


The Searchers

by blueenvelopes935



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Story unfinished story on hold
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2020-10-27 16:08:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 52,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20763173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueenvelopes935/pseuds/blueenvelopes935
Summary: Fresh from Snoke’s crash course in the Dark Side, twenty-four-year-old troubled loner and lost Padawan Ben Solo has a new name: Kylo Ren and a new job:  find Luke Skywalker. But he’s not doing it alone.  He has the Ren.  As seen through the eyes of OC Nestor Flick.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have long been fascinated by the process of how we become ourselves. Who we end up being is not who we (or others) expect us to become. That was a lot of the drama of TLJ when it presented us with a discouraged, remorseful, Force shunning, self-loathing Luke Skywalker. No one saw that coming after ROTJ. Some fans were aghast. I wasn’t. It was good storytelling. 
> 
> But confounding expectations—both in good and bad ways—is everywhere in life. It has consequences too. I live in a world that is very different from the circumstances I grew up in. In some ways, I fit right in to my current life. In other ways, I am a conspicuous stranger. I have some of the social and educational credentials for my peer group, but just barely. I have many but not all of the de rigueur list of possessions and interests. But even if I somehow managed to check all those boxes, I know I will never shake the attitudes of my upbringing. What truly sets me apart are my experiences, not my possessions, my social pedigree, or my looks. I’m an outsider who stands just inside the party. Yes, I am welcome. But do I belong? I’m still not sure. Maybe that’s not even a question worth asking any longer.
> 
> Anyhow, enough about me, right? Well, it’s always about me. I write Star Wars, but it’s never really about Star Wars. So, here’s a meet cute story about a salt-of-the earth striver who meets a sullen, petty princeling. This is the story of an unlikely odd couple friendship. When it all began, one was a hurt child in a mask Hellbent on revenge, and the other was an ambitious young man who no one took seriously. One was using a cause for his own purposes, another was a true believer. But each has a background they are trying to escape yet live up to. Luckily, they both manage to influence each other.

Sergeant Nestor Flick stands sentry just inside the front door of the New Republic Senator’s palatial Coruscant apartment. This is a very secure private building in the heart of the Upper Level on the world that has long been the bright center of the universe. The risk to Senator Ono here in his own home is mostly theft, and that likely would be an inside job. But Nestor is not here to protect the homeowner. He’s here to protect the First Order operative the Senator is covertly meeting with down the hall. 

This bodyguard gig isn’t what Nestor was hoping for coming out of the Academy, but it was the best he could get without a four-year degree. All the plum assignments went to the cadets with university credentials and good connections thanks to their parents’ Imperial army or navy careers. So while his classmates got assigned to high profile stints on the Starkiller Base or on the _Supremacy_ fleet, Nestor got assigned to follow around an old Imperial general whose job it is to stoke discontent among the New Republic Senate. He mostly promises favors in exchange for future support. For this task, the General poses as a lobbyist and Nestor is officially his assistant. But in truth, the General is an insurgent and Nestor is his muscle. 

The element of surprise is key to the First Order’s strategy. The Order likes to cloak its broad and deep reach and keep its intentions quiet. All will be revealed in due time when the attack on the New Republic commences and a handful of very influential business and political figures will reveal themselves as First Order supporters. It is a play for legitimacy. Because once the Order crushes the Republic in one swift stroke, it will need to form a new government immediately. These covert allies for the Cause will be familiar trusted faces to the public at large to help ease that transition. But until then, Nestor’s job is to help facilitate contacts within the New Republic leadership and to be the First Order’s eyes and ears to detect any subterfuge. There is an ever-present risk of discovery, naturally.

In practice, that means a lot of waiting and a lot of listening. And lately, with the General’s frequent afterhours meetings with Senator Ono, it means a lot of her. 

“GI Joe is in the foyer again. Probably listening to this.”

Her voice wafts in through an open doorway. She’s on her com again talking to a girlfriend as she waits for her date to arrive for some big gala evening. Nestor listens to one side of a lot of her com calls. She’s always on her com. Supposedly, she’s a graduate student at Coruscant University, but you’d never know it from her conversation. It’s all talk of parties, fashion, boyfriends, and fancy people with boldfaced names. If this pampered Senator’s daughter ever studies, she sure doesn’t talk about it. 

“Look, I'll call you tomorrow and we can talk about the pics in the newsfeeds. Everyone who is anyone is going to be there tonight, so the press will be out in full force. I hope I make the cut. But you know the PR types at the opera will have to make sure the big donors get their photos published, no matter how old and ugly they are. That only leaves so many spots for the rest of us.”

The girlfriend must be saying something because she falls silent. Then, she laughs. “Yeah, well I suppose someday we are going to be the grande dames. Okay, gotta go. Brooks is going to be here any minute to pick me up. We can’t be late or we’ll miss the carpet. Afterparty pictures do not count,” she says authoritatively and Nestor has no idea what that means. “Love you,” she says in a singsong voice before she hangs up.

High heeled footsteps sound on the stone hallway as the lady herself now emerges, stuffing her com into a very impractical sized purse. The Senator’s daughter is dressed like one of the beautiful people she is. Head to toe, camera ready sartorial perfection. She’s tall, but not too tall. Blonde, but not too blonde. Slim, but not too slim. Nestor covertly looks his fill from his position in the entryway. Sightings of this girl are the best part of his job. And it’s his job to notice things. 

The door buzzer rings. It’s her date. But she doesn’t answer the door. Instead, she waits for the housemaid to answer while she stands elegantly posed. Every time he sees this girl, she looks like she’s anticipating the paparazzi. Even in her own house. 

Tonight’s date looks like all her other dates, Nestor judges. Sizing people up is part of his job. This guy is patrician through and through. With elegant and obviously expensive formal clothes, swept back hair, too white teeth, and an attitude of breezy nonchalance. He’s totally harmless. No threat here. 

“Hey, Cesi. You look great.” The guy greets her with one of those cosmopolitan cheek kisses the social types like. “Shall I pay my respects to the Senator?” he asks hopefully. 

Nestor readies himself to intervene. 

But it’s unnecessary. She puts him off. “Don't bother. He's in a meeting. You know Daddy. Always busy.”

“But I want him to like me,” the date pouts. And geez, could this guy be more of a pussy? Men don’t whine, Nestor thinks silently as he glances again at tonight’s blow-dried up-and-comer. She has a revolving door of these types to escort her out on the town. 

She gives tonight’s guy a reassuring smile. “He likes you fine.”

“Enough to have me as his son in law?”

She chuckles. “I don't like you enough for that.”

The whiney date doesn’t miss a beat. “Not yet,” he tells her. “Look, I'm up for partner this year. I want to tell the Senator that.”

“Tell me what?” a loud voice booms. It’s the Senator and the General. The meeting is over, it seems. Nestor stands at rigid attention in anticipation of his boss.

“Brooks here is up for partner at his firm,” the girl inserts herself, moving to intercept her father. 

“Is he now?” Senator Ono greets his daughter’s date with a smooth politician’s smile and handshake that look effortless from decades of practice. The date nods his respect. There is no nervousness. Evidently, the two men know each other. “Best of luck on that promotion. Let us know when it’s time to celebrate,” the Senator remarks genially. He, like his daughter, oozes effortless charm. These are the sort of people who might spend ten seconds with you but manage to make a lasting impression. They know how to say just the right thing.

The Senator now looks his daughter over with obvious approval. He moves to kiss her cheek. “Cesi, you remind me of your mother tonight.” Then he introduces her to the General. “May I present my daughter Cessily?” The General dutifully nods and she smiles back. Then the Senator introduces her date. “This is Brooks Wayfinder. Brooks is the son of an old family friend.”

The daughter looks a bit impatient at the introductions and the small talk that follows. She’s probably worried that she is going to miss her big chance to get her photo snapped at the party. “Daddy, Brooks and I were just leaving,” she hints.

“Where to, Princess?”

“Opening night at the opera.”

“Very nice. Well, I won’t keep you.”

“Don't wait up, Daddy,” she trills as she firmly propels her date towards the exit. 

The Senator grunts. “You know I will. I always do. Have fun kids,” he waves the dashing young pair off. In a waft of perfume and a swish of fabric, she slips through the door. 

Nestor’s eyes follow her exit. He feels the subtle energy shift in the room in her wake. Girls back home don’t look like her. They don't act like her either. The effortless self-assurance, the smooth inflections, the eye that discerns you at a glance. Cessily Ono is at once coyly subtle and absolutely direct. It’s very attractive. Nestor is smitten by her and by everything she represents.

Her Senator father stares thoughtfully at the closed door as well. “When did I get old enough to have a daughter who goes to the opera? Time flies,” he sighs. 

“Who's the young man?” the General asks. The General is very adept at picking up all sorts of information. The insular world of New Republic powerbrokers is small and their connections are useful intel. It might be a big galaxy, but the list of people who matter is surprisingly short and they all know each other.

“Brooks is a banker. A scion of an old money family. Less money than pedigree these days, but plenty of connections on Muunilinst. Though,” the Senator slants eyes towards the General, “you probably don’t need connections on Muunilinst.” 

The General agrees, “We are covered in that area already.”

“How are you, Sergeant Flick?” the Senator now unexpectedly addresses Nestor. That’s a first. Since they were introduced months ago, the Senator has ignored him. But like all politicians, apparently Senator Ono is good with names and faces.

The General nods his permission to answer, so Nestor pipes up, “Very well, Sir.”

“Have you ever been to opening night at the opera, Sergeant?”

“No, Sir. Never been to an opera, Sir,” Nestor fesses up. He’s certain that information comes as a surprise to no one. 

“Flick will be leaving me soon,” the General volunteers. “He’s taking a new assignment. I’ll have a new man with me next time.” 

“Oh? Well, good luck with that, son,” the Senator commends Nestor. Then the General takes his leave with Nestor as his escort. 

Nestor waits until they are in the speeder before he speaks up. “Does that mean it came through?” he asks with excitement.

“Yes.” The General rubs his jaw a little as he ruminates, “I hope I didn’t do the wrong thing putting your name in contention. Nestor, this could be a big chance, but it’s not without risk.”

“Sir, I welcome a combat position.” Nestor longs for something more than hanging out in conference rooms and private homes. He’s ready to see some action like his old man did back in the day.

But the General keeps giving caveats for this mystery position. “This assignment is very unusual. Your CO won’t be the typical thing.”

What does that mean? Well, whatever. Nestor assures his current boss, “I can get along with anyone.” 

“Good. You’re going to need that talent, I suspect.” And that’s yet another cryptic statement. The General is not usually so cagey. He knows Nestor has a high security clearance for their work. But for some reason, the General seems to treat this promotion opportunity as especially need-to-know. 

“Is there a start date? Will I be training my replacement?” Nestor starts thinking through the practicalities. 

“Actually, I think you’re starting tomorrow. Your new boss will be arriving here on Coruscant. I have rendezvous coordinates for you for tomorrow night.”

And that’s how a day later Nestor finds himself inside a dimly lit, overly loud, expensive hot spot in the Entertainment District. He’s holding a drink and surveying the crowd like his contact beside him is. 

The General had sold this new assignment as a big promotion, but Nestor is now very skeptical. For starters, his new boss is a kid. When they walked into this fancy bar, the guy at the door ID-ed him. His boss just looked at the doorman and the bouncer and said ‘you don’t need to see my identification.’ Then they both got waved in. It saved them the hefty cover charge, but now Nestor is worried that his boss isn’t even legal. Sure he’s tall, but he’s got one of those odd looking faces that could be thirty or could be twenty. More like twenty, Nestor guesses.

Moreover, the guy surely can’t be military. Not with that hair. No man in the First Order—whether officer, NCO, or trooper—has hair that long. The guy has a mane that practically flows for Gods’ sake. That’s girl hair. Nestor runs a reassuring hand over his own regulation buzzcut. It’s guy hair. Military guy hair. 

Time in the service leaves a stamp on a man. It’s in his appearance, in his bearing, and in his speech. No commanding officer ever introduced himself by his first name. You get the rank and the surname. Never ‘I’m Kylo.’ That introduction had been too casual, too indifferent to the chain of command, and altogether too weird for a man of any consequence in the Order. Sneaking a glance over at the lanky, nerdy dude he now works for, Nestor is underwhelmed. They’re both in civilian clothes but this guy really looks like a civilian. 

What a letdown. The General had talked this transfer up saying it was the chance of a lifetime,

but it looks to be more of a demotion. Too bad. Nestor was hoping for a pay increase. Guarding Generals doesn’t pay nearly enough. Well, whatever this new job turns out to be, he’s stuck with it for now. He might as well get to know his boss some. Who knows? Maybe he’ll be fun when he thaws a bit.

At least tonight if fun. Nestor looks around and decides that this place is awesome. These are the young sleek and chic Coruscanti, the beautiful people of the galaxy who everyone else aspires to be whether they will admit it or not. With expressions ranging from bored ennui to animated excitement, they mix and mingle among their exclusive set. From the corner of the room where Nestor watches, it’s like viewing a tableaux of wealth, privilege, and social capital. He’s seen places like this depicted on holonet shows, but this is real life. These are real people. And he is here with them. It’s a long way from where he’s from.

Is Kylo enjoying this as much as he is? Nestor can’t tell. The guy is inscrutable.

“This is a good hang.” Nestor tries to strike up a conversation as they both stare at the crowd. People watching is a sport on Coruscant, and this is a see-and-be-seen kind of joint. There’s eye candy everywhere you look, both alien and human.

But the comment garners no reply.

Nestor tries again. “Two First Order guys walk into a bar on Coruscant . . . There’s a joke in this night somewhere,” he muses. 

His companion acts like he doesn’t hear. Probably because he doesn’t like jokes. This Kylo guy has a face that doesn’t smile. If a guy can have resting bitch face, his boss has got it.

Well, so much for small talk. Nestor takes a sip of his beer and tries a more direct approach. He casually asks, “You come through one of the Academies?”

That question elicits a response. “No. I’m not military.”

Nestor didn’t think so. “College boy? You some professor analyst type?” he guesses next. There are plenty of conservative neo-Imperialist intellectuals who support the First Order. The Order actually began as a political movement. Leader Snoke still has a sizable stable of political operatives, diplomats, and policy wonks, even if it’s nothing compared to his growing but mostly secret war machine.

The guy at Nestor’s side shakes his head. “No.”

“So, what’s your story?”

“I defected.”

Nestor blinks. “What?” He’s never heard joining the Order described quite like that before.

The guy smirks at his confusion. “You heard me right.”

Nestor plays it cool and keeps finishing for information. “So, what did you do before you defected?”

“I was studying to become a monk.”

“Right.” Nestor nods. “Well, that’s . . . um . . . that’s . . . ah . . . “

“Fucking weird?” his boss supplies the words.

“Yeah. Yeah, it is,” Nestor admits. “I could never be a monk. I like girls too much.”

“That was one of my many problems,” the guy smirks. Kylo smirks a lot, Nestor has noticed. Everything about this guy has a tinge of smugness. And, frankly, it doesn’t come off well given how young he is. 

“My old boss didn’t say much about this job. I don’t even know what it entails,” Nestor reveals, feeling a bit stupid.

“You don’t have the job yet.”

“Oh?”

“You’re the third choice, actually.”

“Okay.”

“The first two were unacceptable.”

Great. Well, hopefully those guys are not a hard act to follow. Wary Nestor asks, “You fired them already?”

“I killed them,” Kylo corrects him.

Well, fuck. Nestor swallows hard. Recalling the General’s warning that this job had risk, Nestor is wondering just what he has gotten himself into. “What is this job exactly?” And more importantly, who is this kid that he gets to kill people and get away with it?

“I’m forming a special team for a special assignment.”

That was deliberately vague. Nestor nods along and prompts, “And?”

“There will be seven of us. We’re from different disciplines with different skillsets. We have different strengths and different weaknesses. The goal is for us to work effectively together as a team.“

That all sounds good. But still, very vague. “Is this some sort of special forces gig?” Nestor probes. 

Kylo shrugs. “Something like that. But we’re not military. We don’t report up the chain of command. You report to me and I report to my Master.”

Master. As in Master Sergeant? Nestor is lost for what this guy is telling him. So, he keeps asking questions. “And who does your Master report to?”

“History.”

Nestor nods at this total bullshit answer as though it is legit. Damn, this guy manages to be simultaneously cagey and grandiose. He’s going to be a total pain in the ass to work for. But remembering the fate of the two prior candidates for the job, Nestor plays along. “Right, so who’s signing my paycheck?”

“The First Order.”

“And what’s my rank?”

“You don’t have the job yet.”

Nestor turns to give the kid a pointed look. “I might not take this job. So, sell me on it. What would my rank be?”

“Knight.”

“What?” Nestor blinks.

“You’d be a Knight of the First Order,” Kylo informs him as though that is supposed to be impressive.

Increasingly annoyed with the General for getting him into this gig, Nestor tries to be diplomatic. “That’s . . . unexpected.” And it’s more fucking bullshit from this arrogant, long-haired kid. But affable Nestor just raises an eyebrow and jokes, “Do I get a sword?”

The guy answers like it’s a real question. “No. Only I get a sword.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

Nestor grins. “Is there a castle involved?” he asks cheekily.

Again, he gets a straight answer with a straight face. “Yes.”

“Does it have a round table?”

“I don’t know. I haven't been there yet. Maybe.”

“How’s the pay?”

Kylo shrugs. “I have no idea. I’m not in this for the credits.”

Neither is Nestor, but he still needs money. Still, he lets the point slide. “So, what do the Knights of the First Order do?”

“Whatever my Master wants.”

“And who is that guy again?”

“Leader Snoke.”

Nestor chokes on his beer. It takes a moment before he can speak.

“No shit?? You work for the man himself? As a direct report?” Nestor gasps between coughs.

“No shit,” Kylo tells him with another cocksure smirk. He’s pleased with Nestor’s startled reaction.

“Wow,” Nestor breathes out. “I went to his bunker once. The Admiral I was guarding back then went there for a meeting. I never saw the Leader though.”

“I used to live at that bunker,” Kylo reveals.

This job is getting more mysterious, not less, the more information Nestor learns. He resumes his game of twenty questions now. “So, you’re some kind of assistant to the Leader?”

“Yes.”

“Like a trainee?”

“Yes. I am the Apprentice,” Kylo says proudly. 

But Nestor is wholly unfamiliar with that designation. “Is that a ranked position? Because before this Knight stuff, I was a Sergeant. Staff Sergeant.”

“Yes, it’s ranked,” his boss bristles. “I rank second.”

“Second Lieutenant?”

“Second. As in second to Master Snoke.”

“Oh.” Really?? Nestor can’t help but squint with some skepticism. “Aren’t you a bit young for that?”

“No,” the kid tells him in a quelling tone.

Remembering he’s the boss, Nestor nods. “Got it.”

But his question has the guy annoyed and it shows. Kylo shoots him a sideways glance now and complains, “Next time, put your gun someplace less conspicuous. You look like some ‘open carry’ hayseed from the Rim come to the big city. You’re embarrassing me.” The words are cutting with disdain.

“Yes, Sir,” Nestor forces himself to reply as he explains under his breath, “I don’t go anywhere without a weapon.”

“Neither do I, but I don’t wear it as a conspicuous bulge in my jacket like I’m the bouncer at this club and not a patron.”

Nestor’s eyes rake down the tall guy’s lean frame. He doesn’t see any evidence that he is packing. “Where’s your gun?” He’s curious.

“I don’t carry a blaster.”

“Vibroblade?”

“Don’t insult me.”

“What is this a guessing game?” Nestor gives a little chuckle and a smile. He’s trying to keep the mood light. But geez, this guy is an asshole. Is he always this high-strung? “Sorry, boss, but you don’t look like you’ve got an electrostaff stashed behind your back.”

“I carry a sword. I told you that,” Kylo snaps.

Right. Damn, this guy is intense. “A sword. That’s . . . uhm . . . old school. But cool,” Nestor manages. “You do you, boss,” he adds awkwardly. Then, he bites his lip realizing that last part came out as patronizing.

Peevish Kylo sneers, “It’s a lightsaber.”

Is Nestor supposed to be impressed? Well, he’s surprised, that’s for sure. “A laser sword? You carry a Jedi weapon?”

“It’s called a lightsaber.”

“Come on, man,” Nestor gives him a look. “Who are you--Luke fucking Skywalker?”

“No. I’m going to kill Luke Skywalker,” Kylo hisses. There he goes being intense again.

Nestor just nods. “Yeah, well, that’s pretty much the goal, right? Destroy the Republic, kill the last Jedi, reform the galaxy. Peace and order. That’s what I signed up for.” Nestor takes another drink and swallows hard. He’s going to hate this guy and hate this job. Fuck the General for getting him into this mess.

Kylo now meets his eyes and avows with the zeal of the monk he almost was, “I signed up to personally kill Luke Skywalker. You just did too, Flick.”

Nestor takes another drink. Maybe more beer will help this situation. Because this feels like it is going downhill fast. It’s like being on the worst first date ever and it won’t end. He’s going to have to take orders from this prick kid going forward. Oh, and his new job turns out to be a hit squad to kill a badass Jedi. Yep, Nestor sighs inwardly, this sucks.

Finally, Kylo starts volunteering information. “The Knights are not military. We’re extra-military. We are a personal prelature of Leader Snoke.”

“What does that mean exactly?”

“It means you report to me and I report to Snoke. And we get to kill any blowhard general who gets in the way of our mission.”

Huh. That’s not normally how the Order operates. But okay. “What is our mission?”

“I just told you,” the kid snaps. “To kill Skywalker.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s a lot.”

Well, at least it’s an objective Nestor can get behind. “Alright. Sign me up. That bastard’s got a lot to answer for.”

“Agreed,” the kid nods. It’s the first moment of accord between them. 

After that, a long silence falls. There’s nothing but the buzz of the crowd, a few squeals from drunken women across the room, and the rhythmic thump of music that you feel as much as you hear. Nestor keeps covertly checking out his boss. Kylo is dressed in all black, which is common among the Order, whether you’re in uniform or not. Except this guy is dressed much more expensively than most men his age. Something about him strikes Nestor as very somber. They are standing together in a fancy bar on a Saturday night in Coruscant, but this guy can’t begin to crack a smile. He just stands there sullenly taking sips of his beer as he glowers at the crowd. Everything about his body language is tense and off-putting. 

Searching for something to say, Nestor pipes up, “Is your sword green too?” Luke Skywalker has a green sword in all the holonet pictures.

The kid shakes his head. “It’s blue.”

“Blue is good.”

“It’s my grandfather’s sword,” the kid announces. Again, it’s like he’s expecting Nestor to be impressed.

So, he plays along. “Was Grandpa a Jedi?”

“He hunted Jedi.”

Nestor raises both eyebrows. “Worked for Vader, eh?”

“Worked for Palatine.”

Nestor whistles low. Now, that is impressive. “Man, I wish I had your connections,” he admits with a sigh. “Seems like everyone who’s anyone in the Order has Imperial connections.” Nestor’s family has an Imperial past, but no one in the Order cares if your dad was a stormtrooper. 

His boss looks away and works his jaw a bit before he mutters, “Trust me, you don’t want my connections.”

What to say next? This guy is really hard to talk to. He must be introverted. So, Nestor tries again to joke a bit. “Have you got the magic Force to go with Grandpa’s sword? Because otherwise, Luke Skywalker is going to kick your ass when you light it up. What we really need is one of those Sith Lord types. Too bad they’re all gone.”

“They’re not gone,” the kid corrects him. 

“Great, well, do you know any? Because I’m no match for Luke Skywalker,” Nestor says sheepishly. “No one is.” It’s suicide.

“I am a match for Skywalker. I’m going to kill Skywalker.”

And there the kid goes again being intense. “I admire your confidence. But you know, that guy singlehandedly brought down the Empire.” 

“I can take him.” 

The kid completely believes this, Nestor sees. Who is this guy, he wonders? Well, whoever he is, Nestor won’t run down that bravado. He just approves, “Glad you’re on our side then, Kylo.”

Another long silence falls. Nestor pretends to watch the crowd while he puzzles some more over his new boss. Kylo is hard to place. The critical attitude and smug arrogance are Core, but his accent is generic. It’s Mid Rim, if anything. The clothes and the hair are Core, but his politics are not. And the laser sword? Well, that’s a wildcard. Who is this guy, Nestor wonders again? 

His mind starts connecting the dots. Nestor’s no genius, but he’s not dim. The more he thinks through the bits and pieces of information Kylo has revealed, the more the outlines of his role take shape. Nestor thinks he has it now. He understands why the General thought this was a great opportunity. And also, why he warned that it has special risk. 

“You do have the Force,” Nestor concludes softly. “Any guy as young as you who is number two and who is hunting Skywalker has the Force.”

Aloof Kylo says nothing. 

Nestor notes the lack of denial and keeps going. “That’s it, right? When you said you defected, you really meant that. You came from the Republic.” With a Jedi sword, to boot.

Again, Kylo says nothing. But Nestor knows he’s listening.

“You’re the new Vader. Is that it? Tasked with killing the Jedi while you wait in the wings to inherit an Empire?”

“Yes,” the kid nods immediately to this last assertion. “I’m the new Vader.”

Well, fuck. Nestor doesn’t know what to make of any of this. His mind starts racing with possibilities. And that’s when he sees her. He’s so surprised and delighted that he speaks aloud his thoughts. “She’s here.”

Kylo’s eyes slant towards him. “Who’s here?” he asks. 

Coloring a bit, Nestor sheepishly reveals, “My dream girl.” Has she been here the whole time and he didn’t see her? Cessily Ono is standing on the far side of the bar with another girl. She’s smiling and laughing and being her party girl self. This is her in her element, he suspects.

“Which girl?” Kylo asks. He actually sounds interested.

“The tall blonde next to the redhead at 2 o’clock on the far side of the bar.” Nestor looks his fill with appreciation. “Damn, that dress is hot. She’s looking good tonight.”

“Green dress?”

“Yep, that’s her.”

Kylo, of course, disdains his choice. “She looks high maintenance. And fashion-y. Fashion-y women are superficial.”

“Fashion-y women are hot,” Nestor schools the youngster at his side. He suspects this Kylo guy thinks he is too cool for everything and everyone. He’s that particular type of nasty dude who has to piss on your fun. Yep, he definitely won’t be a cool boss. 

True to form, Kylo continues to neg on his choice. “She's too tall for you in those heels.”

“No, she's not.”

“Yes, she is. She needs a guy my height.”

Nestor shoots his boss a dirty look. “Hands off. I saw her first. And she’s not too tall. Cesi is perfect,” he declares loyally.

“Cesi?”

“Cessily Ono.”

Kylo smirks. “Ono as in Senator Ono?”

“Yes.”

“Your dream girl is Senator Ono’s daughter?”

“You know her?”

“I went to grade school with her little brother. Flick, she is way out of your league. Her father is the senior Senator from Coruscant and has been for decades.”

“He's secretly on our side.”

“That isn't going to get you laid,” the kid informs him with hater glee.

Nestor lets the comment roll off his back. He’s focused on gathering his nerve to approach her. Nestor straightens his jacket and runs a hand over his hair. “I hope she remembers me,” he worries. Sometimes people can’t place you if they see you out of context. That can be awkward.

At his side, Kylo snorts. “You don’t exactly blend in here on Coruscant. You look like the guy on an Order recruiting poster. An earnest fascist revolutionary wannabe. Could you be any more obvious?” he sneers.

Nestor ignores him again. “Do you think she’s leaving? Her body language looks like she’s leaving.”

“Ask me if I care.”

“I care,” Nestor shoots back. “And that redhead she’s with ain’t bad either.”

“I like brunettes,” the kid sniffs.

Whatever. “Come on. We're going over there,” Nestor enlists his boss to tag along. “You're my wingman. Your job is to talk to the redhead. I get the blonde,” he calls dibs on Cesi again.

“Why would I do that?” Kylo drawls, shifting his stance.

“Think of it as team building. We’re going to buy them drinks. Then we're inviting them to dinner.”

“Dinner?” Kylo nearly chokes.

“Yes. Drinks and then dinner. You can smile at that pretty redhead over dinner, can’t you? And after dinner, who knows?” Nestor’s mind can imagine any number of possibilities.

Kylo crosses his arms and looks down his long nose. “I don't know where you get your delusions, laser brain, but you're not going home with Senator Ono's daughter.”

“I’m not gonna fuck her. I just want her digits.”

“You won't even get that.”

“Watch me. I'm going to marry that girl,” Nestor boasts. In the face of negativity, he always gets more positive. Nestor Flick makes a habit of being underestimated. “What are you laughing at?”

“You. An Upper Level girl like that isn't going to marry a Mid Rim First Order Academy scholarship case like you.”

Yeah, well, never tell him the odds. “I'm gonna prove you wrong,” Nestor counters softly, never taking his eyes off Cesi.

“If you do, I'll be your best man,” Kylo jeers.

“I'm going to hold you to that promise. Come on.”

But the kid hangs back. “No. She might recognize me from school. The old me.”

“From when you were eight?”

“Maybe.”

That’s ridiculous. “What is it? Have you got a girlfriend?”

“Not currently,” Kylo hedges, looking away. He’s increasingly uncomfortable, Nestor perceives. And then, it occurs to him that under all Kylo’s arrogance is some youthful inexperience and insecurity. Suddenly, Nestor feels like this tall prick’s big brother. It’s like their roles are reversed from what they should be. One minute Kylo is boasting about being unafraid of Luke Skywalker, and the next minute he’s cowering at the prospect of speaking to a woman.

“Are you shy?” Wait. That came out wrong.

Kylo’s eyes narrow as he hisses, “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to, Flick?”

“No disrespect intended, boss. Hey, it’s cool if you’re shy around girls. Since you were . . . uh . . . a monk and all. Probably not many hotties at the seminary, am I right?”

“Fuck you,” is Kylo’s answer.

“How long were you there?”

“My parents sent me for training when I was ten.”

“Ten?”

“Yes, ten,” the kid grumbles. “It took me a few years before I ran away for good.”

Aw, fuck. This guy is probably terrified of women, then. Nestor gets it now. He shrugs easily, trying to make light of the situation. “So, you’re a late bloomer. Nothing wrong with that. A man’s gotta start somewhere. I’m no expert, but here goes. Follow my lead.”

“I’m staying right here.”

“Then wish me luck.”

“There’s no such thing as luck.”

“There is for me. Oh, damn, she’s leaving.” Across the room, Cesi and her galpal are heading fast for the door. There’s no way to casually catch them and avoid looking overeager. “Missed my chance,” Nestor sighs out his disappointment. “Well, fuck.” He might not get another opportunity. Now, his promising evening has turned even more glum and he’s still got this hater kid boss at his side. Great . . . just great. 

“So . . . you’re good with girls?” the kid ventures hopefully.

Nestor shrugs, “I try.” He’s no player, but he’s been known to charm a woman now and then. 

Kylo nods slowly. “What’s a wingman do?”

Does this require explanation? “You tag along as I approach the girl.”

“I know that,” Kylo replies testily. “I mean, what do they actually say?”

Nestor looks him over, noting how gawky and awkward he now seems. Poor guy. He’s probably never been with a girl. Nestor takes pity on him, even though he’s a total asshole and doesn’t deserve it. “Tell you what, you pick out a girl and we’ll go approach her. I’ll be the wingman. You can watch how it’s done.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. How about that one on the end who’s saying goodbye to her friend. She’ll be alone in a second. Always approach the ones who are alone. They’re easier to talk to.” Girls in groups can be terrifying, actually.

“What do I say?” the kid gulps.

“You slide up next to her, order us drinks and offer to buy her one too. Then, get her name and pour on the charm.” If this guy has any charm, that is. His snarky posturing isn’t going to go far with girls, Nestor suspects. He’ll get much farther with the nice guy routine.

The kid loses his nerve. “Yeah, I don’t think I want to do this.”

“It’s easy. There’s nothing to lose but credits. If she turns you down, she’s a bitch. You forget her and move on. That’s all there is to it.”

“Right.” Kylo looks terrified. No way this kid is going to kill Luke Skywalker. 

“Look, if she shoots us down, that’s not rejection. That’s her failing to accept a good opportunity. It’s her loss, not ours,” Nestor rationalizes.

“Right.” Kylo looks like he’s about to be marched to a firing squad. Yeah . . . he’s all talk. That bit earlier about killing two guys must have been bluster. This kid is trying so hard to be a tough guy. It’s kind of pathetic.

Maybe he should cut him some slack, Nestor thinks. He’s probably been super sheltered. Just look at how uncomfortable he now looks. Nestor can’t decide if his new boss is terrified or terrifying. Maybe he’s both.

Well, whatever. Talking to that girl will at least be better than talking to Kylo, Nestor figures. So he urges, “Come on. Let’s do this. Now’s our chance.” 

“Alright.” 

Together, they set off across the crowded room. The girl turns out to be outgoing and bubbly. They buy her a drink and chat a bit. Well, actually Nestor does all the talking. Kylo just stands there looming and looking intense. The guy is incredibly socially awkward. A little scary too up close. But it goes alright for a first attempt. Eventually, the girlfriend she is waiting to meet shows up and the pair leaves together. But as they exit, she turns and waves a cutesy goodbye to him and Kylo.

“That went well,” Nestor declares victory.

“Flick?” Kylo mutters at his side.

“Yeah?”

“You’re hired,” the kid blurts out. 

Is that a good thing? Nestor isn’t sure. He simply nods. Then he raises an issue that has been bothering him. “So when you said earlier that you were studying to become a monk, you meant monk as is—“

“Jedi,” Kylo finishes. “I was Jedi before I defected. Is that a problem?”

“Not as long as you stay on the good side,” Nestor answers truthfully. 


	2. chapter 2

“So this is where the deplorables live. I think I can smell the lives of quiet desperation.”

As they ride through the streets of his hometown in the back of a hired speeder cab, Nestor is seriously regretting letting Kylo tag along. But when his boss had revealed that they had a few days before they are scheduled to meet up with the rest of the new Knights, Nestor had the bright idea to stop along the way for a quick visit home. Drop me on my homeworld and I’ll meet you in the Rim, Nestor had suggested offhand. Somehow, that has turned into this moment. 

“You can stay with the ship, if you want,” Nestor suggests casually.

“Oh, no. I wouldn’t want to miss this sightseeing trip,” Kylo drawls, his long nose practically pressed to the window. “Never seen so many fat women and guys with beer bellies.”

It’s more nasty sarcasm. Annoyed at his mean spiritedness, Nestor speaks up. “These are working people. They come home tired and want to be with their families. They don’t go to the gym.” 

“This whole world needs to go to the gym,” Kylo decrees. He grunts. “This sure isn’t Coruscant.”

“No, it’s not,” Nestor agrees. “But there are good aspects to that.”

“Like what?”

“Like it’s less expensive and less crowded. Like the people are friendly. There’s more space. The schools are decent. People know their neighbors.”

“These people probably hate Coruscant.”

“They hate your attitude, that’s for sure. But yeah, the local politicians like to stoke hate for the Core.” Class warfare is a tried and true political tactic in the galaxy’s flyover systems like this one. It’s the same old script of resentment. Nestor shakes his head. “That rap only gets you so far.”

“Why?”

“Because what the politicos miss is that these people don’t want to tear down the Core, they want to be the Core. They want all the advantages of a Kuat or a Coruscant combined with their Mid Rim lives.” 

The humdrum Mid Rim is the bulk of the galaxy, with mainly human worlds. Its economies are based on skilled manufacturing and service industry jobs that are too sophisticated for droids but too déclassé for the elite. That makes for worlds full of middle-class people. They are the target consumers for every mass-produced item in the galaxy. They are the hardworking, taxpaying bourgeoisie. They gawk at the lifestyles and culture of the Core and they look down on the slaves and outlaws of the Rim. You can’t get more wholesome or conventional than the Mid Rim. And, honestly, there are lots of good aspects to those values.

But Kylo fails to appreciate them. He shoots Nestor a knowing look. “Combining this place with Corsucant?” he scoffs. “Is that like you wanting to marry some Senator’s daughter?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Nestor isn’t embarrassed about his ambitions. “There’s nothing wrong with aiming high. It’s aiming low that gets you in trouble.”

“Is that what passes for folksy wisdom in these parts? Amid the huddled masses yearning to breathe free?” Kylo jeers.

“You can stay with the ship, if you want,” Nestor suggests again, this time a bit pointedly.

Asshole Kylo sneers, “And miss all this everyman fun? Not a chance.”

Nestor cocks his head at his new boss and frowns. “You know, we are not who the media portrays us to be. We’re not the alien hating, wife beating, gun crazy, stupid fools they call us. We know when we’re being made fun of and talked down to. We know when we get played.”

“Is that your home team stump speech for the next Senate race?”

That crack finally gets a rise out of even tempered Nestor. He growls, “I didn’t join the Order to run for Senate. Democracy is what made things worse around here. Everyone knows that, even if some won’t admit it.”

His rare testy tone gets Kylo’s attention. And now, the kid drops the condescension and it becomes a political discussion. “Why not? Why aren’t people more upset here like they are in the Rim?”

Nestor shrugs. “These people aren’t that political. They’re more interested in making ends meet and raising a family than they are engaging in partisan debates. Most just want things to be better. They don’t much care how you accomplish it. They just want to get things done.”

Kylo glances out the speeder window. “If I lived here, I’d want things to be better. Well,” he decides, “the new weapon will take care of things.”

He’s talking about the Starkiller. It’s the worst kept secret in the First Order. How the Republic hasn’t gotten wind of that project is beyond Nestor. And, sure, if it works, it’s a gamechanger. But that’s a big ‘if,’ and Nestor says so. “Even if they can get the weapon to work, it will only do so much.”

Kylo disagrees. “It will take out the Republic government. Checkmate. We win.”

“The weapon might win us the galaxy, but it won’t keep it. We need people from places like this to support the Order if we are going to achieve our goals.”

Kylo sniffs. “These people will do what they’re told.”

Does this guy hear himself? Probably not. People seldom recognize their own bias because their perspective blinds them. But Nestor Flick who grew up in the Mid Rim, with politics that are Outer Rim, and a job that heretofore kept him mostly in the Core, has every vantage point. He tells it like it is. “No, they won’t. They’re not sheep. And they are far more resourceful and resilient than the Core believes. Look around—these are the people who we need to combine with our supporters in the Rim. You know that old saying about ‘who holds the Core, holds the galaxy’? It’s wrong. Who holds the Mid Rim holds the galaxy.” This is the middle ground of opinion that will catapult the Order from being a fringe group of extremists to being a credible political reform movement.

Nestor now tells the speeder driver, “Pull up on the left. We’re here.”

Nestor walks into his parent’s small standalone pre-fab dwelling to find Mom alone. After the hugs and kisses, they end up in the kitchen where she’s chopping vegetables for dinner. Every serious conversation in the Flick household always takes place in the kitchen. Today is no exception. They chat as she cooks and bustles about the cabinets. 

Tall Kylo just stands there looming as a silent, conspicuous eavesdropper. The guy looks like he’s afraid to touch anything. Like it might get him dirty. Nestor is silently offended. His parents’ place might not be fancy, but it’s clean and orderly. The Flicks might not have much, but they take pride in it.

So Nestor endeavors to ignore Kylo. He’s determined not to let his uninvited boss ruin the visit. “Is Dad working third shift again?” he asks.

“No, he’s just late. The speeder’s broken. He’s taking the bus home these days.” Mom looks over her shoulder from her place at the counter. She gestures again to the table. “Sit down, sit down. You too young man,” she orders Kylo. 

They dutifully obey her nagging. 

“Want some water?” She fills two glasses from the faucet and hands them over. Nestor almost wants to laugh at Kylo’s reaction. This guy never drinks water out of the tap, he’s guessing.

“What’s the matter with the speeder?” Nestor asks. 

“Probably age. That thing's got almost two hundred thousand miles on it by now.”

“You need a new one,” Nestor tells her what she already knows.

Mom nods. “We probably need to start keeping an eye out for a good used one.”

She’s worried about credits, like always. “I can help,” Nestor offers softly. 

Mom looks up from her chopping. “Don’t let your father hear you say that. Your father is a proud man. He won’t take credits from you.”

“He wouldn’t have to know.”

Now Mom puts down her knife and crosses her arms. “I don’t keep secrets from your father. Never have, never will.”

“But Mom—“

She waves him off. “Save your money. Go spend some credits on a pretty girl. Give me some grandchildren.”

Nestor drops the point. It’s futile to argue with Mom. “So, what’s new around here?” 

“Jynna sent you an invitation to the wedding. I kept it. It’s the fancy kind on real paper.”

Nestor looks away. “I’m not going to that wedding.” 

“Yeah, I didn’t think so. I sent your regrets already.” Mom’s face softens. “She wasn’t good enough for you, Nes.”

“That’s not what she thought.”

“That guy she’s marrying is nothing compared to you.“

This is not a topic Nestor wants to discuss. “What else is new?” he changes he topic. 

“Your Aunt Mabel lost her job.”

“Really? She’s been at the droid factory forever.”

“Yeah, but they started cutting back hours last year. And then last season, they began layoffs. She made it to the final group. She was proud of that. But they’re shutting the plant and moving it to the Rim. Slave labor is cheaper than paying a living wage.”

Kylo speaks up now. “There are no slaves left in the Rim.”

Mom begs to differ. “They might as well be slaves. Those Rimmers work for nothing. They live like pre-industrialized worlds. Sometimes, I think the Republic likes it that way,” she grumbles. “All those robber baron moguls in the Core get rich off the backs of the rest of the galaxy. They make droids and speeders for next to nothing in the Rim and then they mark them way up to sell to us suckers in the Mid Rim. They get all the profits, we go into debt to buy their shit, and the Rimmers are lucky if they get enough to eat. If you ask me, intergalactic trade is scam.”

No one at the table disagrees with her. In a nutshell, that’s the First Order’s chief economic complaint against its foe: that the New Republic’s policies have increased the Core’s wealth at the expense of everyone else. 

Mom resumes her updates now. “Rick Nightflood went back into rehab last week. It’s his third time.”

“Booze?”

“And spice.”

“Where’d he get the credits for spice?”

“Who knows?” she shrugs. “Oh, and your cousin’s pregnant again.”

“Same guy?”

“Different guy. But I think this one might stick around. I hope so. Supposedly they’re getting engaged, but I’ll believe it when I see it. Why no one waits to get a ring on their finger before having kids these days is beyond me,” she frowns.

The door sounds now and in walks Dad. He’s still wearing his factory uniform. Like most men Nestor grew up around, Dad takes a shower after work, not before. “Heya kid! You didn’t tell us you were coming.” A big smile appears across his tired, sagging features at the surprise visit. 

Nestor intercepts him and gets smothered in a bear hug. As they pull back, Dad glances at Kylo. “Who have we here?”

Nestor makes the introductions. 

“Water?” Mom offers. 

“Hell, no. My day is done. Open a beer. Make it three,” Dad winks at him and Kylo. “We’ve got company.” Dad sits down to join them at the kitchen table and makes himself comfortable. “So, how’s the revolution coming? Guard any generals lately?”

“I’m done guarding the top brass. I’ve got a new assignment,” Nestor reveals.

Dad beams. “Did they finally let you into Intel?”

“No, I’m doing a new strike team gig.”

“Strike team? Is this real combat?” Dad looks impressed.

“Hopefully,” Nestor answers. 

“Definitely,” Kylo confirms. 

Mom looks up to complain, “Can’t you go back to guarding generals?”

“That won’t win us the galaxy,” Nestor answers simply. 

“But I don’t want you hurt.”

“I’ll be fine, Mom.”

“Now, Vera, this kid’s the best shot in the Order. He’ll be fine.” Dad turns back to him. “When is this war actually starting, Nes?”

“Couple of years,” Kylo answers for him. The timing all depends on how fast the Starkiller Base gets up and running. 

“Well, it can’t start soon enough,” Dad decrees. “Did you see the Republic has banned plastic straws? It’s fucking ridiculous. There’s more plastic in the fork I threw away at lunch than there is in a straw. But apparently straws are now evil and dangerous to the environment. Those clowns on Hosnia need to get their priorities straight. The galaxy is falling apart and they’re regulating fucking straws.”

Mom chides softly, “Jules, watch your language. We have a guest.”

Kylo smirks. “It’s okay. I’ve always been a pro straw man myself.”

“I like you already,” Dad decides. Then he resumes his rant. “We need real change, not symbolic feelgood bullshit. The Order needs to hurry up and get things started. I can’t take much more of this.” 

It’s Dad being Dad. Age has mellowed him in some ways and hardened in others. Like the increasingly polarized galaxy that surrounds him, he’s more convinced of his views than ever now. But his views—like the views of the rest of the galaxy’s sizable minority of Imperial-friendly citizens—don’t seem to matter. Only the Core’s pro-Republic perspective matters. It dominates the holonet and permeates society, labeling all critics as extreme and pushing them to the fringe. That’s why things are heading fast for civil war, Nestor knows. Because democracy is especially inefficient if there is no compromise. Because if the tyrannical majority tramples everyone else, what good are all those freedoms? 

Galactic democracy sounds so appealing in theory, but in practice it has been a failure. No one can agree on the big complex issues—there are too many systems and too many special interests—so the Republic ends up doing shit like regulating straws. And the real problems languish unsolved. The discontent is real . . . and growing. If the Republic was smart, they would throw the Order sympathizers a bone and do some of the easy stuff to stave off conflict. But they are tone deaf to the needs of regular people and too cloaked in the rhetoric of freedom to realize that those ideals matter less to many people than having a steady income and a decent living. 

Dad takes a long pull on his beer and asks, “How do you two know each other? You’re not in the Order. Not with that hair,” he tells Kylo with censure in his tone.

Nestor inserts himself. “Dad, Kylo is Order. He’s my new CO.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“You some sort of analyst?” Dad squints at his guest. “Because back when I was a trooper in the 501st, only the analyst types didn’t get buzzed like the rest of us. Well, plus the senior officers, but you’re too young for that.”

“You were in the 501st?” Kylo suddenly looks very interested. 

“Yeah, that’s right. Vader’s Fist.” Dad makes the old-time Imperial salute. “Ooorah!” he hollers. It practically makes the dishes rattle, it’s so loud. He and Mom are used to it. But Kylo jumps. Then he grins—Kylo actually smiles—at the outburst. 

“You from an Exile family, hun?” Mom looks up to ask.

“No, but my grandfather fought for the Empire,” Kylo answers. He must have been the grandfather who worked for Palpatine whose sword Kylo uses, Nestor thinks. 

“Damn, I wish we’d won,” Dad bemoans. “The Empire wasn’t perfect, but it was better than this. The Republic talks a good game, but they don’t deliver. And the taxes are ridiculous. I wouldn’t mind so much if those credits stayed here at home. But my taxes go to building museums and universities in the Core while things stay pretty much the same here. The rich just get richer.”

Mom agrees. “All those Senators praise Mid Rim values, but they do nothing to support us. They laugh at us behind our backs when the microphones and cameras are off.” She turns to him to ask, “With this new job, will you still go to Coruscant and Hosnia a lot?”

“Not so much anymore,” Nestor guesses looking to his new boss for confirmation. 

Kylo smirks, “Oh, he’ll be back on Coruscant to see his girl.”

“Girl?” Mom’s ears immediately perk up. “What girl?”

“She’s not my girl,” Nestor grumbles. 

“The girls from back home aren’t good enough any longer?” Mom bristles on behalf of the ordinary women of the galaxy everywhere. 

Kylo gleefully piles on, revealing, “He’s found himself a Senator’s daughter.”

“Wow.” Mom is at a loss for words, but only for a moment. “Nestor Flick, what are you thinking??” she demands with a hand on one hip. 

Nestor shoots Kylo another dirty look.

Seeing this, Dad neatly inserts himself. “How about you boys come look at the speeder with me while Mom cooks,” he suggests. “Nes, come do a tactical retreat so you can tell me about this Senator’s daughter.” 

And that’s how he, Dad, and Kylo end up in the cluttered garage poking at the family speeder. Dad produces a toolbox, declares himself a lousy mechanic, and asks if they want to have a look. In a move that surprises Nestor, Kylo steps up. He starts poking around at the speeder engine as he asks, “Who’s the girl?”

“What girl?”

“That’s what I want to know,” Dad joins in. 

“The one who’s getting married.”

Nestor frowns. “She’s just some girl I used to know.”

Dad snorts. “You gonna tell him?”

“No.”

“Then I’m gonna tell him. She’s his old girlfriend.”

“Yeah, I got that part.” Kylo selects a wrench and starts loosening something under the speeder’s hood. “You dump her?”

Nestor sighs. Do they really have to go into this? “She dumped me.”

Kylo doesn’t leave it there. “Why?”

“We wanted different things. She didn’t like the Order. She didn't hold with my ideals. She thought I should have stayed here and not gotten involved. She wanted a guy who did the usual thing—got a job, got married, saved for a house and then kids.”

“That’s not you? Because that looks like you,” Kylo observes.

“It is. But I want better than this for myself and for everyone.” Nestor is a bit indignant. “That’s why I’m following Leader Snoke on his damn fool idealistic crusade to bring back the Empire. To make the galaxy great again.” Nestor is getting upset all over again just thinking about this topic. In a rare show of temper, he kicks savagely at a nearby box and grumbles, “She couldn’t see the upside. She said I was only going to get myself killed or sent to jail as a terrorist.”

“That might happen,” Kylo continues his needling. 

“I know,” Nestor gripes. “But at least I will have tried to do something. I don’t want to throw my life away. But I don’t want to waste it either.”

Kylo looks up from under the hood of the speeder to hold his gaze. “I understand.” Then he turns back to his tinkering.

“Enough about that. Who’s the Senator’s daughter?” Dad wants to know.

“Just some girl I know. We haven’t even gone out yet,” Nestor grumbles. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“So, don’t plan the wedding just yet?” Dad teases.

“Tell Mom to stand down on buying baby clothes,” he answers.

Kylo speaks up now from inside the speeder. “This has a clogged fuel injector. Someone sold you some bad fuel. The additives build up after a while when fuel gets diluted.”

“Shit. Is that a big fix?” Dad asks warily. 

“No. It will take ten minutes to pull it and flush it. Then I put it back in and you’re good to go. Problem solved.”

“That’s good news.” Dad looks very relieved. “Where’d you learn about speeders, Kylo?”

“My father. He was a mechanic.”

“Did you learn at his side?”

“I guess you could say that. But it was more that if you wanted to see him, you had to work on the ship. He loved his ship more than anything. That guy spent every chance he got working on his ship.”

“Is he a spacer?”

“He’s a criminal,” Kylo hisses.

“Oh. Sorry.” Dad cringes. 

“Don’t be. He’s gone. He was very good at leaving.” Kylo’s bitterness is uncomfortable to listen to, Nestor thinks. 

But Dad keeps pressing. “So it was just you and your mom growing up?”

Kylo shakes his head no. “My uncle raised me. He could fix anything. My uncle was a much better mechanic than my father even though everyone pretended otherwise. He was a far better pilot than my father, too. We all pretended about that as well. Everyone was always stroking my dad’s ego and humoring him,” he fumes.

“I heard you say your grandfather fought for the Empire. Was your uncle Empire, too?” Dad asks.

Kylo smirks at the question. “No.” Watching him, Nestor recalls that Kylo was Jedi from the age of ten. No way his immediate family was Empire, he’s guessing. 

But Dad doesn’t know that. “Does your uncle not like fighting?”

“Oh, he likes it. He likes it far more than he lets on. My uncle probably has the biggest kill count of anyone alive.” With that cryptic comment, Kylo extracts a small speeder part and Nestor shows him a sink where he can rinse it out. Five minutes later, Kylo has the part cleaned and reinstalled. 

Dad claps him on the back. “Well, I guess you earned your dinner.” He ducks inside to holler to Mom who hollers back from the kitchen. “Your mother says she needs a few minutes more,” Dad reports the intel on dinner.

That’s when Kylo finally notices why the garage is so cluttered. It’s full of survivalist gear and Dad’s food and water stockpile. “You some sort of prepper?” he asks. Kylo looks amused, probably thinking it’s cliché to find a veteran hoarding. No doubt he thinks the Flick family are paranoid extremists who envision a bleak, dystopian future. Like Dad’s some PTSD nutcase and not a regular guy who’s got legitimate reasons to be worried. 

But Dad doesn’t take offense. “I like to be ready for contingencies,” he answers simply. “I grew up at the end of the Clone Wars and I fought the Rebellion. I know the upheaval war brings. The shortages and price hikes. Now, there’s another war brewing. I like to be prepared.”

“Is that thing full?” Kylo gestures to the big gun safe against the far wall.

“I’ve got two more inside,” Dad answers, “plus enough plasma cartridges to reload them all.” He gives Kylo a meaningful look. “I will protect my family and my property with deadly force, if necessary.” And that’s classic Dad. He’s a man who doesn’t have much, but he values what he has greatly and he will defend it until the end. 

Kylo smirks. “Are they legal?”

“The blasters? Some of them. But the New Republic is gonna have to pry the illegal ones out of my cold, dead hands,” Dad blusters.

Kylo wisely accepts that speech without comment. Instead, he invites, “Tell me about the 501st.”

Dad grins. He loves talk of his trooper years. “I spent ten years in Lord Vader’s legion,” he says proudly.

“So, you saw a lot action?”

“Yep.”

Nestor supplies the details. “Dad was at Yavin and Hoth.”

“Endor. I was at Endor too,” his father adds. “We were down on the moon defending the shield when the _Executor_ was lost.” Dad looks away and exhales a loud sigh. “All hands lost. Like both Death Stars. Those fucking rebels . . . ”

“So you’re born and bred First Order,” Kylo surmises, looking to him. And that’s not unusual. Most of the Order’s officer corps are the sons and daughters of Imperial veterans. After the Rebellion won, many high-ranking Imperial officials went into self-exile with their families. From the ashes of the Empire in the shadows of the Outer Rim and the Unknown Regions, the survivors regrouped and formed the Order. The only thing unusual about Nestor is that his dad is a trooper, not a general. 

“Well, since we’ve got some time to kill . . . “ Dad now walks over to the gun safe and opens it with his handprint. He takes out a pistol. It’s loaded, of course. Every weapon in the Flick household is loaded. An unloaded gun is useless for defense, Nestor was taught at an early age.

Dad checks the safety first before he tosses over the pistol. He gestures to the target hanging on the far wall of the garage. It’s a makeshift indoor firing range, complete with buffered backing to harmlessly absorb plasma bolts. Dad begins this shooting match the way he does every other—with a low-key challenge.

“Show me you can still out shoot me, Nes.”

“No one outshoots him but me,” Nestor explains for Kylo’s benefit. 

“Prove it,” Dad chimes in. 

“Is this the one that kicks left?” Nestor asks as he walks over to take careful aim with the unfamiliar weapon.

“Yes.”

Nestor concentrates. Then he lets loose six shots in rapid succession. All six shots leave the same scorch mark on the target. Each shot bullseyes the previous one. 

“That’s my boy!” Dad crows. “Hand me that weapon. Give the old guy a try.”

Dad proceeds to equal the feat. “Never let anyone tell you stormtroopers had bad aim,” he schools Kylo. “I was part of the second wave of troopers. We took over for the clones as they were retired. We did tons of target practice. Pistols, rifles, you name it. We shot everything.”

“What was he like?” Kylo suddenly blurts out. 

“Who?”

“Vader.”

Dad thinks a moment before he muses, “He was the only senior commander I ever saw lead the infantry himself. That guy was on the ground with a laser sword in the thick of the action. Supposedly, there were Jedi who did that in the Clone Wars. Mostly the young ones, I think. But not at Vader’s level of seniority. Personally, I think the guy loved to fight. He wanted to be part of the action. I heard he flew a TIE a lot too, but I wouldn’t know. Not a pilot myself.”

“I’m a pilot,” Kylo volunteers.

“Yeah? How good are you with a gun?” Dad thinks one important measure of a man is how he handles a gun. 

Nestor looks to Kylo and silently nods his encouragement to answer.

Taking the cue, his young boss claims, “I’m fine.”

“Show us.” Dad offers the weapon. It’s a challenge and all three men know it. 

Kylo nods slowly. Then the pistol flies into his open palm with the help of an unseen force. _The Force_.

Nestor has never seen that before.

But Dad has. He watches warily as Kylo walks over to the makeshift range.

Kylo deliberately faces Dad, his body rotated a full ninety degrees from the target. Then, he asks, “How long did you hang around after Endor?” as he shoots. Kylo is not even facing the target he’s aiming at when each shot drills through the same original scorch mark Nestor made initially. 

“Holy shit,” Dad reacts to the feat. 

Kylo ignores him. Instead, he prompts, “How long? How long were you loyal?”

“Til the end,” Dad answers slowly as he walks past him to inspect the target. “I was at Jakku. I fought until the surrender.”

Kylo clicks the safety lock on and hands back the hot pistol.

“You’re Jedi,” befuddled Dad concludes as he accepts it. 

“No,” Kylo responds quickly. “I am Sith.”

“There are no Sith. They died with Vader and Sidious on the Second Death Star.”

“I am Sith,” Kylo says steadily. 

“Then show me the sword,” Dad requests. 

Kylo reaches into his tunic to produce a metal hilt.

“Yep,” Dad breathes out as he inspects the weapon, “that’s a lightsaber.” He sounds slightly awed. “Lord Vader used to wear his hanging on his belt like the old time Jedi did.” Nestor himself moves closer to take a look. He’s heard of these weapons, of course, but never seen one. Lightsabers are throwbacks to days gone by. Museum pieces like gunpowder firearms. They represent a past that is gone forever . . . or so everyone thought.

“This looks just like I remember. This looks just like his did.”

Kylo nods. “It should. That was Vader’s sword before his Empire years.”

“Yeah? Then light it up. Let’s see,” Dad says excitedly. 

Kylo depresses a button on the handle and the sword deploys with an odd crack and then a hiss that becomes a steady buzz. It’s a very distinctive sound. It sends an ominous shiver down Nestor’s back.

“It’s blue!” Dad reacts with instant recoil. “Son, you're gonna need a red one. That thing makes you look Jedi.”

“It’s not the color of the sword that matters,” Kylo announces.

Dad is having none of that sentiment. “That’s like when a girl says it’s not the size of your dick that matters. Of course, it matters.”

Nestor cringes. “Dad—“

“I’m just sayin’. Having a blue laser sword is like having a small—“

“Dad!”

Luckily, Kylo looks amused. He smirks at them both. “I’ve got nothing to worry about. For either issue.”

And how the Hell did they get on this topic? Thankfully, Mom now sticks her head in the garage door to call, “Dinner’s ready.”

They eat dinner at the kitchen table. And that’s actually an upgrade from the usual routine when they sit together in front of the holonet screen. Mom went so far as to put paper napkins on the table, too. She’s trying hard to impress, but it all seems lost on Kylo. As they eat, he pumps Dad for war stories about his legion. He’s not humoring an old veteran, he’s actually very interested. The guy turns out to be incredibly knowledgeable about the minutiae of the Rebellion years. That impresses Dad who immediately recognizes a fellow military history buff. After a while, they get started in on the Clone Wars. Thereafter, he and Mom can’t get a word in edgewise with all the talk of battle strategy and political maneuvering. So, Nestor sits back to observe, noting how different Kylo is in this setting. All of his petty elitist snark is gone. There is none of the social awkwardness Nestor remembers from the Coruscant club either. This version of Kylo is earnest and smart. He’s actually quite respectful of Dad. It makes him surprisingly likable. 

By the time Mom is clearing the plates, Dad is inviting Kylo back. And that’s when Nestor speaks up with an issue that he has been noodling on while he sat listening. “So . . . if that sword was Vader’s and that sword was also your grandfather’s, then—“

“Vader is my grandfather,” Kylo finishes quietly.

It’s a big reveal. Nestor sits back and exchanges looks with Dad. “You really are the new Vader.” And apparently, a Sith Lord too. Although Nestor isn’t exactly sure what that means.

Kylo nods. “Yes.”

“And that makes Skywalker your father?” Nestor is trying to piece together the family tree. Rebellion celebrities were not a big topic in his household growing up.

“Uncle. Luke is my uncle.”

He and Dad exchange looks again at that casual reference to the last Jedi. “And that means your mother is—“

“Leia Organa. Princess Leia Organa.”

Dad swears under his breath and slaps the table hard. Mom is speechless standing at the sink with a dish towel in her hands.

But Nestor keeps going. “And your father is that space racer—“

“Han Solo.”

“Fuck.” The words “I’m sorry” come out before Nestor can stop them. “I guess you really did defect. You’re like Rebellion royalty. Are you Kylo Organa Solo, or something like that?”

“I was Ben Solo. But I’m Kylo Ren now.” Kylo shoots Nestor a steely look. “Don’t ever call me Ben. I’m not that guy any longer.”

“Okay. Got it.”

The easy rapport of earlier is gone. Kylo’s reveal has everyone confused and subdued. Dad looks equally impressed and appalled. Mom seems flustered and nervous, like she’s uncertain if she should be starstruck. Nestor himself feels sorry for the guy. It’s not Kylo’s fault who his parents are. It must be weird to have kin on both sides of a war. To be the scion of the hero or the villain, depending on your point of view. Plus, he claims to be a Sith Lord. And, well, those guys aren’t exactly known to be happy.

Nestor decides to wrap things up. He begins to say his goodbyes. 

“Good luck, Nes. We’re proud of you,” Mom tells him as she envelopes him in a long hug. “You’ll never know how proud we are of you,” she chokes up as she pulls back.

Dad grunts. “Everyone knows how proud she is of you. She never stops talking about you. The whole neighborhood hears it plus everyone at church. Well, come over here, kid. Give your old man a hug. Now you clean your gun, got it?”

“Yes, Dad.” Jules Flick thinks a dirty gun is the ultimate sign of reckless laziness. Dad has nothing but contempt for a man with a dirty gun.

“I mean it,” he lectures. “A weapon is your life in a fight. Don’t let it jam on you.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. Now, stay away from spice, bad booze, and fast women,” Dad advises with an outrageous wink and a nudge.

“And Senator’s daughters,” Mom chimes in with a pointed look. “Stick to your own kind, Nestor.”

“Yes, Mom,” he humors her.

“You find yourself a nice girl in the First Order and you—“

“Leave him be,” Dad thankfully intervenes. “Bring home any girl you want and we’ll love her. We promise.”

Then Dad addresses Kylo. He shakes his hand and instructs, “Take care of our boy. He’s the only one we’ve got.”

“Daaaaad,” Nestor groans. “You’re embarrassing me.”

“This is how it works. You have his back, and he has yours. That’s called unit cohesion. Vader didn’t do it on his own either.”

“Ok, right. We’ve gotta go.” Nestor wants to exit fast before there are more mortifying moments. He mumbles under his breath, “Love you guys,” as he heads for the door. 

“Sorry about that,” Nestor tells Kylo as soon as they are outside and walking towards the nearest corner. They’ll hitch a ride in a speeder cab to head back to the spaceport.

“Don’t be sorry. It was not what I expected. . . it was nice.” His boss sounds surprised and chagrined.

“Dad loves his war stories,” Nestor keeps apologizing. “It’s just that those were the best days of his life. There was never much glory for him as a civilian.”

Walking beside him, Kylo muses, “So you’re fighting your father’s war all over again, aren’t you?”

Is he? Well, not exactly. “I’m not doing it for him. I’m doing it for myself. And for everyone else.” Nestor colors and shrugs sheepishly. “I guess you could say I’m a true believer. I want the Order to win and make things better. The New Republic had their chance. They blew it. Big time.”

Kylo nods at this shared sentiment. “I’m fighting my family’s war too. My family is largely responsible for the current state of the galaxy,” he says glumly. Nestor can hear the frustration in his voice.

So, affable as always, Nestor agrees, “Yeah, I could see that.”

“It’s nice how proud they are of you.”

Nestor colors again. “I guess they can lay it on a bit thick—“

“It’s nice. My family was never proud of me.”

Damn, that sounds forlorn. Embarrassed by Kylo’s honesty, Nestor tries to explain, “I’m the only kid. I guess my parents are especially invested in me—“

“You’re all on the same side,” Kylo interrupts again. He says it again like it’s curious concept that he can’t quite wrap his head around. “You’re all on the same side. You want the same things.”

“Yeah, well, Mom votes in the elections. Dad’s a diehard. He won’t even do that. Says he refuses to acknowledge the legitimacy of the Republic.”

Preoccupied Kylo isn’t listening. “Someday my family is going to be on the same side, even if it means killing them all.”

Nestor looks up sharply at these soft but vehement words. The menace behind them is very real. 

But Kylo doesn’t back down. “I don’t want to kill my parents, but I’ll do it if I have to. I will do what I must,” he finishes somberly, looking far more haunted than confident. And for a moment, Nestor wonders if this intense guy with the magic Force who is Darth Vader’s grandson would rather be a trooper’s kid like himself. He’s estranged from his famous family, he’s trying to fill the big shoes of a fearsome grandfather he never met, and he’s clearly not comfortable with the Order politics he’s supposed to espouse. No wonder he’s such an asshole. The guy must be miserable. He probably doesn’t fit in anywhere with that background.

Nestor tries to steer things to more benign topic. “How long is the flight to our rendezvous point in the Rim?”

“About twenty hours. We should sleep it. Who knows what will happen when we get there?”

“Get where?”

“The bunker. We’re meeting the other Knights at Snoke’s bunker.”

“Oh.” Nestor wasn’t expecting that location.

“Let’s hope he’s in a good mood,” Kylo grumbles. 


	3. chapter 3

Kylo hands him a datapad when they are about an hour away from Snoke’s bunker. It’s open to a file about himself. Nestor reads a full report of his service record, including reviews from each of his prior commanding officers. He reads a description of his strengths—dedication, independent thinking, easygoing demeanor, good judgement —and his weaknesses—lack of educational credentials, quick tendency towards deference, and a lack of sophistication. The report has everything from his enlistment forms and Academy records to recent surveillance photos of him at work.

Nestor swipes and finds a similar report for another man. All in all, he finds six reports in total. These must be the Knights, he gathers. So, of course, he takes a peek. Nestor is the oldest Knight at age thirty, but the rest are not far behind. Being the oldest is the only way he distinguishes himself, Nestor soon discovers. It doesn’t take much browsing to determine that he himself is the underperforming outlier among the group. 

The others fit neatly into the category of brains or brawn. The brains include a guy who is an explosives and munitions expert. He’s something of a creative genius for weapons tech and he builds bombs in his spare time. The other brainy dude is a hacker. This computer geek can penetrate even the most sophisticated firewall security. He’s fluent in all types of programming with a mind like an R2 unit. 

The brawn contingent includes three fighting men. Two are praetorian candidates who were training to guard Leader Snoke himself. That’s a far cry from the type of low key, low risk work Nestor did as a bodyguard. Unlike him, these men are experts at hand-to-hand combat, each knowledgeable in multiple fighting styles with an impressive catalog of weapons. They are extremely lethal, like the rest of their praetorian brethren. The final man is an assassin who commanded a death squad. His list of hits is eye opening. Nestor had no idea some of those high-profile deaths were targets and not accidents. And who knew that the Order managed to frame a well-known leftist terror group for a bombing that took out two Senators? In his performance review, this guy’s current CO sums him up in one word—'ruthless.’

It’s . . . intimidating. Nestor doesn’t belong with this crowd. He’s good with a gun and competent in combat drills, but that’s about it. Putting the datapad down, Nestor swallows hard. What the Hell did his General get him into with this assignment?

He wanders into the cockpit of the civilian transport craft they’re flying to find Kylo at the controls barking testily into the comlink. Looking down at the horizon, Nestor remembers this ultra-secure, undisclosed world with a double shield gate. After an initial snafu with the landing clearance, the ship is finally admitted for landing. Their destination looks like it could be a small warehouse complex for a private business in the middle of nowhere in the Unknown Regions. But it's not. This is the home of the Supreme Leader of the First Order.

When he’s not cruising the galaxy in his enormous in-your-face sized dreadnought flagship, the reclusive mastermind of the First Order lives in a rambling underground lair that appears completely nondescript from the surface. But underneath the bland corporate veneer, there are several levels of meeting rooms and a vast complex of intelligence operations. Farther below supposedly there are several floors that constitute the Leader’s personal residence. But Nestor never saw that portion of the bunker when he was here once before. All he saw was the upper portion of the base that is military in design and teeming with uniformed personnel. 

He and Kylo are met on the landing pad by a slight, neat man of advanced years. He welcomes Kylo with a polished bow and curt news. “You’re late. He’s waiting.”

“We got held up.”

“He’s not happy. This morning’s Starkiller update was a disappointing setback.”

Kylo makes a face. “Are we pushed to three years now?”

“Worse. Five. Maybe six. The Master was most displeased,” the old man frets. 

Kylo raises an eyebrow. “Anyone die?”

“Yes.” The old man now addresses him. “Sergeant Flick, I presume?”

Kylo makes the introductions. “This is Milo. He’s my Master’s personal representative.”

Seeing no rank insignia on the man’s plain black uniform, Nestor nonetheless gives an obligatory salute. “Sir.”

“Don’t,” Kylo corrects him. “Milo’s not military. The Sith and those who serve them are not military.” 

Nestor nods as he pretends to understand this statement.

Their trio starts walking inside towards an elevator. “Are the others assembled?” Kylo asks.

Milo nods. “Everyone is waiting on you.”

“Great. Tell the clowns manning the shieldgates to let me in faster next time, will you? I was supposed to be precleared but they saw my old clunker and got suspicious. Does no one in the First Order recognize stealth when they see it? I’m not flying into Coruscant in a TIE fighter,” Kylo grouses. 

“I will take care of it,” Milo assures him. “But please, do hurry.”

“Where are we meeting?”

“He’s on his throne.”

“Perfect,” Kylo exhales his habitual sarcasm. “Just perfect.”

“Drop your bags here. I will see to them. Apprentice, you need to get in there,” Milo urges haste yet again. And that’s how two minutes after landing at the bunker, Nestor finds himself entering the presence of Supreme Leader Snoke himself. There isn’t even time to be nervous. It all happens so fast. 

As they briskly head past the red armored praetorians who lurk in the corners of a grand antechamber, Kylo confides under his breath, “Whatever you do, don’t think about the dress. It’s a test. Everyone fails.”

“Dress?” Nestor asks blankly as two guards open the doors to admit them. 

Kylo never breaks stride as he heads in. “You’ll see. Don’t think about it.” 

Together, they walk forward into a cavernous red room that is decorated mostly by guards. Five other men stand in a line waiting at rigid military attention. Nestor joins them, but his eyes follow Kylo who approaches closer to take a knee in an almost feudal show of deference. Kylo’s earlier words come to mind now: the Sith and those who serve them are not military. Kylo’s allegiance is personal, he surmises, not professional.

Nestor’s eyes raise from the obeisant Kylo to the man on the throne. He blinks a moment as the tall figure stands. Nestor now perceives the meaning of Kylo’s advice.

Snoke does wear a dress. A sparkly gold dress. Nestor immediately puts his reaction out of his mind. For though he might be attired for a drag queen beauty pageant, this man is his ultimate commanding officer, the man who will lead them to victory over the usurping New Republic, the leader who will at long last restore the glory of the Empire. This man’s vision will avenge the death of millions at the hands of the Rebellion. He must be the head Sith to Kylo’s Apprentice trainee version. So what if he’s seven feet tall, bony and twisted looking, with a face that is hideous? And, yeah, his forehead looks like some Jedi tried to cleave him in two. One cheek has an open hole and he’s missing most of one ear. But he is a hero. Nestor focuses on that fact alone. 

Who you appear to be is not who you are. And those of us cursed to look truly different from the norm have a unique experience few will ever fully understand. This guy looks like a crossdressing mangled corpse, but looks can deceive. One thing is for certain, Nestor decides, Supreme Leader Snoke is much more than his first impression suggests. He must be very secure in his masculinity to wear that getup. Watching him now, Nestor wonders if the fancy outfit is an effort to distract from his wounded appearance. 

Actually, Snoke’s monstrous deformity does not inspire revulsion so much as pity. More than anything, Nestor thinks, this man looks like suffering. As powerful as the Leader is, his appearance suggests frailty. He’s not fully human, but he is so damaged that Nestor cannot place his species. Could he be a Muun? He’s certainly tall enough. Well, whatever. He’s the Supreme Leader. That makes him a hero.

Without preamble, the Leader casually shoots lightning bolts from his fingers. All five of the men standing to Nestor’s right are swept off their feet. They lay gasping and tangled in a heap of pain.

The Leader doesn’t react. He simply croaks at his Apprentice, “You’re late,” and shoots a bolt of lightning at Kylo as well. Snoke nails him. Now Nestor’s boss is sprawled on the floor too. “Do not keep me waiting,” the irritated Leader reproves. 

“Yes, Master,” Kylo replies through gritted teeth.

Terrified Nestor is the last man standing, but he’s quaking in his combat boots. Anticipating that any second he too will be attacked with this magical Force wizardry. Stupidly, Nestor had thought that the Force was used for lifting rocks and fighting with lightsabers. He had never contemplated this awesome power. He has vastly underestimated the power of the Dark Side. He won’t do that again. This guy is like some wrathful god shooting lightning bolts for punishment.

Nestor gulps hard and his eyes meet Snoke’s. The Leader holds his gaze for a brief second before moving on. “On your feet, gentlemen,” he orders impatiently as Kylo and the others slowly and painfully pick themselves off the floor.

And that’s when the realization sets in. Nestor alone will be spared punishment.

“You are the Knights of Ren,” the Leader purrs. His voice is slow for effect. And deep, too. “Chosen for your talents and your potential. Your mission is critical. You are tasked with finding and killing the Jedi Luke Skywalker.”

“As of today, you are neither military nor civilian. Henceforth, you serve the Sith. That means our victories are your victories, and our defeats are your defeats. That means our enemies are your enemies, and our allies are your allies. My Apprentice Kylo Ren is your Master, and in turn I am his Master.” The Supreme Leader’s eyes now sweep over their assembled group. “You, like my Apprentice, owe me everything.”

Snoke pauses to let that introductory speech sink in. Then he walks with his awkward twisting gait back to his throne to settle back down. 

“I expect your loyalty, your diligence, and your excellence. Nothing less will do. Should you fail, you will die. You may not quit. You cannot be reassigned. This is a lifetime appointment. The only way out is to die. Gentlemen, that means you must find a way to get along and to succeed.” The Dark Master pauses yet again before warning, “I refuse to accept failure.”

Now, he calls out a name. “Step forward, Sir Newton Pollux.” The Leader proceeds to call each Knight individually. He gives them what must amount to his version of a pep talk. It’s a barb filled endorsement that leaves no mystery as to where his Apprentice learned his snark. Nestor listens, having already read the details of these men’s accomplishments. They are each stars in their own right, and Snoke cuts them down to size. So, what will he do to an unremarkable guy like himself? Nestor girds himself for humiliation.

Finally, it is his turn. “Sir Nestor Flick.” Nestor dutifully steps forward for his own grilling. 

“Ah, yes. The bodyguard,” Snoke sighs out how underwhelmed he is. Then, he proceeds to detail why. “You are nothing special. You have no great intellect. No exceptional skills. No noteworthy accomplishments. You are just a hardworking young man who is loyal to his cause. Loyal enough to lose your girlfriend over it. It is the rare man who will put principle over sentiment. For that, I respect you.”

That’s not exactly how Nestor remembers the breakup, but okay. That’s not a bad way to phrase it. But how the Hell does Leader Snoke know about that? Did that somehow get on his service record? Nestor cringes inwardly.

“Why are you here, Sir Nestor?” Snoke proceeds to answer his own question. “Because my Apprentice, like all of his bloodline, walks with kings. He is born to power, endowed with Force, and destined for glory. You, Sir Nestor, are here to teach him the common touch.”

“We will conquer the galaxy. Of this, there is no doubt. But will we keep it? Will we sway the hearts and minds of our enemies sufficient to avoid begetting another Rebellion? Will we succeed where Lord Sidious and Lord Vader failed before us? To do that, I need an exceptional Apprentice.”

Snoke now lays into Kylo. “He needs to grow up. To grow beyond being the special child with the special powers who was shunned and feared by others. To rule the galaxy, he must become a man capable of leadership as well as killing. He was sheltered too long in the Jedi cult. And then, too isolated by my training. It is time for him to leave the nest,” Snoke smirks. The expression is very reminiscent of his Apprentice. But the Supreme Leader is not finished trolling. He continues, “Kylo Ren is an overgrown, overpowered child, petulant and peevish. Unlikable. Insecure. Those are not qualities that will gain him admiration and loyalty. Your particular job, Sir Nestor, is to babysit my Apprentice in hopes that your better qualities will rub off on him. So that when the time is right, he can assume the mantle of Supreme Leader.”

Nestor glances over to Kylo beside him. Seeing the clenched fists and tight jaw. Snoke has belittled each of the Knights one by one, but he has saved his most scathing, most personal words for his Apprentice. To whom much is given, much is expected, it seems. So far, the job of Knight looks lousy, but the job of Apprentice looks downright awful. And, Nestor suspects, the rules are the same: you can’t quit. Still, Nestor strives to remember his father’s advice about basic training when he first signed up. Dad warned him that the drill sergeant will be a dick who yells in your face. Let it roll off your back, he counseled. A little hazing is part of how these organizations work. It’s not personal. Take your licks like everyone else and move on.

His thorough dressing down concluded, the Leader looks satisfied. He flashes a tight sneery smile that distorts his already contorted visage. “Now then, Skywalker disappeared years ago. Supposedly, he went in search of the first Jedi Temple. Find where he hides. Kill him or bring him to me,” Snoke purrs. You can almost hear the anticipation in his voice, Nestor thinks. “You will have the full might of the First Order at your disposal. But I warn you, Skywalker will not be easily taken. He eluded the Empire for years as a rebel fugitive.”

“Time is of the essence. I want Skywalker dead before we attack the Republic. Skywalker helped take down two Death Stars already. I will not let him scuttle mine,” Snoke growls. The Starkiller project is the linchpin to the Order’s invasion strategy. Everyone knows that conquering the galaxy will be a messy system by system campaign like the Clone Wars if the Starkiller isn’t available.

Kylo speaks up now for the group. “We will not fail,” he vows. The statement is firm, but he says it as if it’s a bit obligatory. Like he’s telling the boss what he wants to hear in a rote show of loyalty.

Snoke’s mouth settles in a grim line. He’s not impressed. “We shall see,” he responds in sepulchral baritone. 

After that dispiriting interview with the Leader, the Knights withdraw to a conference room. It’s occupied when they walk in. Kylo just waves at the six officers in deep discussion and orders, “Out.” To Nestor’s surprise, the group disappears promptly without objection. It’s the first indication that Kylo has true status in the Order. The kid certainly has the attitude of entitlement to go with it, Nestor observes. 

“Go get the analysts,” Kylo orders to that Milo fellow who has followed them. Milo seems like a cross between Kylo’s handler and Snoke’s aide de camp. He too disappears at Kylo’s bidding.

“What does Ren mean?” one of the techie Knights asks Kylo.

He shrugs. “Hell, if I know. It was Snoke’s idea. This whole Knights thing is Snoke’s brainchild.” And clearly, his Apprentice is not enthusiastic about it. “It’s some obscure reference to the Old Sith Empire, I think. It doesn’t translate well from the Kittat.” His explanation is very opaque, leaving Nestor and the other men as mystified as ever.

“Is he always that much fun?” one of the other guys asks as he rubs at his sore shoulder. “What was the lightning stuff about?”

Kylo gives the guy a pointed look. “You’re alive, aren’t you? Not everyone he saw this morning can say that.”

Milo now returns with two women and a man. One is a navigational expert, and the other two are historians. They are here to brief the Knights on the status of the ongoing search for Skywalker. Everyone takes a seat around the conference table as Kylo calls the meeting to order.

“We believe that Skywalker went searching for the first Jedi Temple after his own teaching temple was destroyed.” Nestor notes the passive voice formulation for that bit of history. He has a pretty good guess at who did the destruction, but he keeps it to himself. “We think Skywalker went into self-imposed exile a few weeks afterwards. Find the original Temple, find Skywalker,” he concludes. 

That’s the cue for the trio of analysts to begin a presentation on their research into locating this elusive Temple. With the help of a droid projecting holograms, they show a lot of star charts and documents. The team has clearly done a lot of work, but they have little to show for it. It boils down to this: they think Skywalker is in the Unknown Regions, but they have no idea where. 

Kylo says what they all are thinking. “This isn’t going to be easy. It took Vader three years to track down Luke.”

One of the praetorian types speaks up. “Can’t you find him with the Force? You know ‘search your feelings’ and all?”

“No.” Kylo shoots the guy an annoyed look. “That’s not how the Force works.”

“You guys can’t sense each other?” another guy speaks up.

“Sometimes,” Kylo answers. “But neither Snoke nor I can sense Luke. It’s like he’s disappeared. It’s weird.” Kylo frowns. “There’s an old Sith trick to hide in the Force. Perhaps he’s doing that.”

“Can a Jedi do Sith stuff?” Nestor wonders aloud. Like all the other men, he is wholly ignorant of the Force. It was a hokey religion even in his parent’s youth, and the Jedi were already long gone. Plus, the First Order basically blames Skywalker and his magical powers for killing Vader and the Emperor, so anything Force related is considered very suspect. More legend than truth, most likely. 

Kylo and his Master are proof otherwise, however. “Luke could it,” Kylo decides. “He’s far Darker than he lets on.”

The praetorian dude speaks for everyone else in the room when he says, “I don’t even know what that means. I don’t know anything about the Force.”

“None of us do,” another Knight agrees.

Kylo looks impatient. “Then know this: I can’t find Luke in the Force. We’re going to have to find him the regular way.”

The analysts resume their presentation. They have incomplete information located in the old Imperial archives. That information itself was pilfered from the Jedi archives after the fall of the Coruscant Jedi Temple at the end of the Clone Wars. But they think that even the modern-day Jedi didn’t know the location of their original Temple. One of the historians explains that the early Jedi were very secretive because the public tended to fear them for their power. As a result, the early Jedi kept few records, preferring to transfer knowledge from Master to Apprentice to be passed down in person to those who the Jedi knew to trust. What few records they kept were guarded zealously and often hidden in religious relics that can only be opened by a Force user. They show a few pictures of little cubes they call holochrons and kyber crystal talismans and jewelry. These sorts of trinkets apparently served as Jedi records. Thus, the analysts have concluded that the Knights need to go in search old Jedi artifacts. They have exhausted all the information available from conventional sources to locate the Temple. 

“So this is a treasure hunt?” someone asks.

The analyst team hems and haws, but Kylo bluntly answers, “Yes.”

“How did Skywalker know where to go?” Nestor asks the obvious question.

No one has an answer.

The analysts now start going through a catalog of the known Jedi relics and their current locations. Many are unaccounted for, having disappeared in the destruction that accompanied the Emperor’s Jedi Purge over fifty years ago. Some are indicated as being at the castle, which Nestor learns is Lord Vader’s castle on some abandoned Separatist volcanic world. Some are in the hands of a religious group called the Church of the Force. And some are currently in museums and private collections scattered across the galaxy. 

“How do we get to those?” a Knight asks.

“We steal them,” Kylo answers. “We can take whatever we want.”

About halfway through the presentation, Leader Snoke sweeps in. It interrupts the meeting, naturally. Everyone stands to their feet at attention. Snoke gives a regal nod and waves everyone back into their seats as he bids the speaker to continue. But having the seven-foot-tall disfigured Sith in attendance at the back of the room changes up the atmosphere perceptively. No one looks more rattled about it than Kylo, Nestor notes. 

“We aren’t the only ones looking for Skywalker,” Kylo reveals when the analyst team concludes. “The Republic wants to find him. They want to recruit him to the private military defense force they are covertly funding to oppose us.”

Someone asks, “Is that Senator Organa’s pro-war Resistance movement?”

“Yes.”

Nestor processes that news. Kylo’s mother is looking for his uncle. Just like Kylo is. She wants the Jedi’s help and probably to protect her brother. Kylo wants to kill him. This all smacks of personal dynamics that no one is talking about. It hasn’t escaped Nestor’s notice that no mention has been made of Kylo’s personal connections to this mission. It makes Nestor wonder if he is the only one of the Knights who knows the truth of Kylo Ren.

With the presentation over, there are a few questions from the group. Then Kylo asks for ideas on how to proceed. With Snoke watching, naturally all the other guys strive to impress. Nestor just listens as the others brainstorm. 

Finally, when there is a lull, Nestor speaks up. “We want to kill Skywalker, but does Skywalker want to kill you?” he asks Kylo.

He doesn’t answer. 

“We could use you as bait and ambush him,” Nestor explains. “You know, skip all the relics and hide and seek altogether. Instead, we lure him out.”

Kylo nods. “That’s how Vader got to Luke.” He continually speaks of Skywalker casually by his given name. It tells Nestor how personal this quest is. It’s the elephant in the room that he and presumably Snoke know. But does anyone else?

“So . . . would he come for you?” Nestor presses.

Kylo still doesn’t answer.

Feeling way out of his league, Nestor continues. “Isn’t this showdown Jedi-Sith duel thing how it works? You want to kill him, he wants to kill you—“

“He doesn’t want to kill me,” Kylo blurts out.

Oh. “Okay. Is that because it’s not the Jedi way and all?” Nestor squints. He’s trying to understand the Force angle to all of this. 

Kylo just reveals, “Luke won’t get revenge.”

“Revenge? Justice? There’s a fine line there,” a cynical voice from down the table speaks up.

“Not in the Force. There is a difference between the Light and the Dark Side,” Snoke interjects from the back of the room.

Kylo agrees. “We have to chase him. He won’t come to me.”

“Why is he hiding?” Nestor now asks. That seems to be the big omission from this mission briefing. What is Skywalker’s motivation in all of this? Because isn’t he supposed to be a guardian of the New Republic?

Kylo makes a face. “He’s ashamed.”

Nestor nods. There’s that unspoken subtext of family again. Skywalker trained his nephew who turned on him. Nestor hopes he isn’t talking out of turn as he confirms, “He’s ashamed because you defected and he feels like he failed?”

“Yes.”

“So he doesn’t want to try and talk you out of it? Can that be our ruse? You show up to talk and then we ambush him?” Nestor brainstorms. 

“He won’t go for it. He won’t fall for that,” Kylo shakes his head. “He never once tried to talk me out of it.” Kylo looks down and mutters, “He had already declared me a lost cause.” 

“Oh.” That’s saying something, Nestor decides, since Luke Skywalker successfully talked Darth Vader away from the Empire. But he didn’t even try with the young nephew he raised from age ten? None of this makes much sense to Nestor. “What about the other Jedi? Aren’t there other Jedi? Did they go into hiding with Skywalker?” he asks.

“No.”

“You were his only student?”

“No. The rest are dead.” Kylo doesn’t provide the details.

One of the other Knights has a new proposal. “Why don’t we round up some people, hold them as hostages, and release a recording on the holonet with you threatening to torture and kill them? You offer to trade their lives in exchange for Skywalker meeting you for a duel.”

“No.” Nestor speaks up reflexively before he can think to muzzle himself. “We’re better than that.”

“Are we? We going to put a Starkiller laser through Hosnia,” the Knight points out.

“That’s different,” Nestor counters.

“How so?” Leader Snoke drawls from the back of the room. 

Nestor gulps. He’s on the hot seat now. But he holds his ground. “Hosnia is a military and a political target.”

“So is Skywalker,” the Leader replies.

“Yes, but those random civilians aren’t.” Swallowing his growing nervousness and hoping he doesn’t sound disrespectful or naive, Nestor makes his point. “Taking hostages is the tactic of smalltime terrorists, spice cartels, and organized crime. It is beneath us.”

“It’s effective,” the Knight who proposed the idea speaks up.

“Only in the short term,” Nestor begs to differ. “Plus, making this fight public is a bad idea. It will tie our hands because we cannot appear to be unreasonable before the cameras.”

“Why not?” the Knight challenges. 

“Because we need people—at least some of the people—to like us if we are going to rule the galaxy. It’s way too hard to rule by fear and it risks sparking another Rebellion. Look, no one is going to be impressed with us if we victimize innocents to get to Skywalker.”

Snoke observes dryly, “Plenty of innocents are going to die before this is done.”

“Yes, Sir. There are always civilian casualties in war. But that’s not the same as targeting civilians. Besides, it makes us look weak. It makes him look weak.” Nestor gestures to Kylo. “If he’s going to be a leader someday—“

“The Sith are Lords, not leaders,” Snoke interjects.

“Yes, Sir,” Nestor corrects his terminology but continues his point, “If he is going to be Lord of the galaxy then he needs to be respected. He needs to kill Skywalker in a fair fight without some cowardly pretext that ends up making Skywalker a martyr.”

“He’d still be dead. That is the objective,” the other Knight persists.

Nestor cannot refute that position. But he’s making a different point. Tentatively, he ventures, “I guess I’d like to kill him and keep the moral high ground. To discredit Skywalker and everything he stands for is far preferable to proving him right by our own actions.”

“Squeamish, Flick? Because I’ll do it.” The Knight who proposed the idea now grandstands in front of the Leader. “Before this job, I was an assassin. And before that, I was one on of our death squads. I’ll kill for the Cause. That’s no problem.”

“Fine. But I was under the impression that we do that selectively. We’re not butchers.” Nestor turns to the Leader and risks asking, “Are we?”

“Such a leading question,” Snoke coos as a slow smile creeps across his face. “No, the Sith are not butchers. We are architects of the future. Find a better plan than holonet ultimatums, Apprentice. We can reserve that option for later.”

Then Snoke stands, everyone stands, and he departs. 

The old manservant Milo appears again. He directs the Knights to yet another conference room. There Nestor sees his duffle bag along with five others that must belong to the rest of the Knights. There’s also an assortment of exotic weaponry that must belong to the praetorian types. Those guys always fight with bizarre, intimidating melee instruments. But what really claims everyone’s attention are the six similar, but not the same black helmets and the rack of black uniforms. 

“Gentlemen, find your helmet,” Milo invites them, “and your uniforms.”

“This is our uniform?” The Knight who argued for hostages looks stumped as he holds one up. It’s an ankle length, long sleeved black coat worn buttoned up with a wide cummerbund. It has a high collar that looks almost priestly. There are no stripes or other rank insignia, and no references to the First Order. It’s a lot like the nondescript uniform Snoke’s manservant Milo wears, Nestor realizes. “I hope these are our Class A’s, because I can’t fight in this.”

The guy beside Nestor chuckles. “I’m not dying in a fight because I tripped over my own dress.”

“Geez, this is a fucking dress, isn’t it?” another guy groans. “I guess it gives new meaning to the term ‘battle dress.’

Kylo walks up beside Nestor. “This is classic Snoke. He’s trolling us. At least there are no sequins,” he adds under his breath. “Put one on. Let’s see it,” he calls to the pro hostage guy.

When worn, the uniform is not as bad as Nestor fears it will be. It buttons easily over his fatigues and the other guys wear theirs over officer’s uniforms. But the look is very distinctively non-military. The Knights look more like vicars than warriors. But still, the outfits evoke a certain gravitas. Walk in a room in this coat and you instantly look important. Glancing about the room at his fellow Knights, Nestor thinks he understands the aesthetic. It’s powerful, serious, and completely outside the chain of command. Glancing over at Kylo who has donned his own version, Nestor sees how it perfectly suits that crazy hair of his. The Kight’s dress is as distinctive as the rest of him. 

“There is a shorter tunic length coat and pants as well,” Milo explains. “It can be supplemented with armor or customized. But this is the default uniform for a Knight while not on a mission.”

The guys all look as relieved as Nestor feels at this news. “So, I don’t have to fight in a dress?” one asks Milo.

Kylo answers. “I don’t care what you fight in, so long as you win. I don’t care what you look like either. I don’t know the Order regulations on grooming and dress, and I don’t plan to learn them.”

“So beards are okay?”

“Fine by me.”

“Tattoos?”

“You can get inked. I don’t care.”

And that’s the point, Nestor understands. The Ren are their own kind. They don’t obey the normal rules. But they don’t get the protections and predictably of those rules either. 

He’s still wrapping his head around this new job. More and more, Nestor thinks he has become some sort of vigilante bounty hunter for Snoke and his Apprentice. Like he’s now some gang member for Team Sith. Moreover, he’s suspicious that this search for Skywalker has far more to it than has been explained. Maybe if he knew more about the Force, it would all make sense. But Nestor knows very little about what it means to be Jedi or Sith. He just knows the conventional wisdom: that the two opposing Force factions are historic enemies and the fate of the galaxy hangs in the balance.

“Get dressed and grab your gear. Let’s get out of here,” Kylo tells his men. “Tell the pilot to get my shuttle warming,” he orders Milo.

“Of course,” the old man instantly defers. 

Kylo now announces, “We will be stationed on the star destroyer _Finalizer_. We will train there together for a month before we report back to the Leader to receive our first orders.”

They all troop out to the landing pad to board a slick looking brand new black command shuttle. It’s heavily armored but without a scratch on it. 

Nestor whistles under his breath. “Nice ride.”

Kylo smirks. “It was a graduation present.”

The other Knights troop up the ramp, but Kylo hangs back on the landing pad. It’s almost like he doesn’t want to go. 

Nestor walks up beside him. “Ready, boss?”

Kylo sighs. “I guess I have to be, don’t I?”

Something about his resigned tone gets Nestor’s attention. He looks over at the tall, long faced youngster. Seizing the opportunity to speak without onlookers, Nestor asks quietly, “Who else knows who you really are?”

“It’s a short list. My Master, Milo, you, and a few others in the senior command.” That puts Nestor in some pretty impressive company. He wonders now why Kylo ever confided in him and his family.

“Are you planning on telling the other Knights?”

“No. It’s need-to-know information. Keep it to yourself.” 

“Copy that. But I think we would be better equipped to find Skywalker if we knew the whole story.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Kylo shoots him a glance that looks both panicked and cornered. He is instantly defensive. “What do you want to know?” he snaps.

Everything. How did the first family of the Force become so dysfunctional? How did the son of Rebellion heroes end up joining the cause to restore the Empire? How does Snoke fit into the picture? Is he using Kylo, or is Kylo using him? And what does the Force have to do with any of this? The more Nestor thinks through this situation, the more questions he has. But he settles for the most pressing issue. “Why did you defect? What made Skywalker fail with his Jedi agenda for you?”

Kylo gives him the brush off. “You will never understand,” he says with thick condescension.

“Try me.” Nestor isn’t a Skywalker demigod with the magic Force, but he has a brain and a heart, and he knows a bit about people. Why Kylo did what he did and why Skywalker reacted with exile seem very important to the riddle of where the Jedi hides. Because if they can understand what Skywalker hoped to find at the first Jedi Temple maybe that will be the clue they need to help locate it. 

“What happened with Skywalker?” Nestor presses. This kid said his uncle raised him. There had to be plenty of love and respect there once. This falling out had to be over something big to have such reverberating consequences. It sent Kylo to the Dark Side and it made Skywalker quit the fight altogether. Even his shrill warmonger twin sister doesn’t know where he is.

Kylo answers cryptically. His face is flushed. “I had no choice. Afterwards, there was no other option but Snoke. He knew it and I knew it. We all knew it.”

Nestor is confused. “Wait—you didn’t choose this?”

“None of this was intentional,” Kylo mutters. “Not really.” Then he shuts down the conversation. “Come on,” he orders as he heads for the shuttle ramp. “Let’s get out of here. I’m ready to be done with this place.” 


	4. chapter 4

The flight to the _Finalizer_ is brief. Like almost all of the First Order military assets, the star destroyer lurks in the Outer Rim. Buried in deep space where no one will look to find it. The Order has stealth down to an artform to cloak its true threat. So while the Republic—most notably its matriarch former Senator Leia Organa—strongly suspects that the First Order is preparing for war, it can’t yet prove it. 

Still, each year in recent memory, some Core World journalist has written another expose piece warning of the growing might of the First Order movement. It’s yellow journalism based on hearsay from fuel depot records and weapons suppliers. It’s never hard proof that will withstand scrutiny and will compel the do-nothing Galactic Senate to act. The Republic seems to have adopted a ‘see no evil, hear no evil’ posture that the Order exploits to full advantage. 

The Republic fearmongering is always the same: Here come the far right, fascist neo-Imperialists to steal your civil rights! Here come the racist human supremacists who view aliens as disgusting! Here come the authoritarians who hate democracy and hate freedom! And, well, there is a kernel of truth to each of those allegations. But there are also legitimate and complex reasons for those attitudes. And rather than investigate and understand those reasons, the Republic paints the Order and its many passive sympathizers with a broad brush as violent haters who want to turn the clock back. It’s reductive oversimplification. 

For history is indeed the winner’s side of the story. But luckily, that doesn’t mean the loser’s version is completely eradicated. Truth has a way of coming to light, Nestor knows. It has a tendency to persist. People know lies when they hear them. Telling lies over and over again, louder and louder, does not make them more convincing.

But the New Republic certainly has tried. In the almost thirty years since the Rebellion, it has created a rigid liberal orthodoxy enshrining the Old Republic as the zenith of good government. It was a golden era of compromise and peace that was brought down by the conniving warmonger Sith, or so the story goes. The problem is that many people’s personal experiences—as well as many noted historians’ treatises—disagree with that assessment. Plenty of people remember Sheev Palpatine as a courageous statesman who tried his best to hold the Republic together through the tumultuous Clone Wars. Many who voted for him reject the notion that he was ever truly a dictator. For them, his Emperor role was a natural outgrowth of his elected position as Supreme Chancellor. They also remember the rampant corruption and ineffectiveness of the Old Republic Senate. They recall the meddling of the Jedi Order in the affairs of state, in everything from trade to the military. Did the Old Empire make mistakes? Yes. Was the destruction of Alderaan an abomination? Certainly. But was everything about the Old Empire bad? No. 

Still, the New Republic refuses to recognize that fact. It will concede nothing to its vanquished enemy. Everyone who had anything to do with the Bad Empire is a Bad Person. That foolish stance plays into the Order’s hands. Because the more they draw lines of demarcation and shrilly point fingers, the more reasonable the Order’s ideas appear. The New Republic leadership seems to have forgotten that a mere fifty years ago, the galaxy at large gave up on democracy. And . . . it might do that again if circumstances are right. Leader Snoke and his First Order will be ready to pounce when that happens. 

But for now, Nestor and his brethren exist quietly in the shadows on ships like the _Finalizer_. Watching, waiting, and preparing. 

Like everything else in the Order, this brand-new star destroyer harkens back to the past. Its design elements are a faithful redo of the Imperial versions that preceded it, only with updated technology and supersized stats. Everything old is new again in Snoke’s armada, only it’s bigger and better. 

Kylo’s black command shuttle enters the gigantic hanger bay with an escort of two TIE fighters. That seems oddly ceremonial to Nestor, but Kylo just shrugs. Soon, the tall wings of his black shuttle fold up like a bird of prey coming to roost. Then the ship settles down and the ramp deploys. Nestor grabs his gear like the other Knights and readies to disembark. And that’s when he glances out a window to see the reception Kylo Ren has merited.

“What the fuck?” The Knight next to Nestor swears as he too takes a look. In the _Finalizer_ hangar bay await hundreds of troops and officers assembled in neat rows at attention. 

“Who are they expecting?” Nestor wonders aloud.

“Us,” Kylo answers as he clips his lightsaber to his belt. “Follow me.” Then, he strides down the ramp like he owns the place. It’s the same brash entitlement that Nestor observed back at Snoke’s bunker. 

Taking in all the pomp and ceremony, Nestor thinks he gets it. For while the Leader himself might run down his Apprentice, he clearly wants Kylo to be respected. It’s the first indication to Nestor that the relationship between Master and Apprentice is very complex. Harsh taskmaster that he is, Leader Snoke wants his student to succeed. 

Kylo is welcomed by an Imperial veteran Admiral. The Admiral’s words are impersonally cordial and his poker face is blank. This is bland professional courtesy. The young Colonel at his side, however, is much more demonstrative. He eyes Kylo and the Knights with clear skepticism. He glances to his superior as if to ask, ‘who are these guys again?’

“See to it personally that they get settled, Hux,” the Admiral tells the Colonel as he hands them off. “The Knights are here at the behest of the Leader and we wish to see to their every need. Let us endeavor to be good hosts.” Then, the Admiral salutes and heads back to the bridge. That leaves the Knights with the Colonel and several hundred onlookers who comprise the official welcoming committee.

“From your security clearance, we half expected the Supreme Leader himself,” Colonel Hux observes coolly. He has icy blue eyes that rake over the new arrivals carefully. They linger a moment on the conspicuous lightsaber at Kylo’s hip.

For his part, Kylo is all business. “There should be a set of seven custom TIEs arriving.”

“Yes, they are here.”

“Have them fueled and kept ready near the airlock. We will be practicing flight skills daily.”

The Colonel bristles, “That’s valuable real estate in my hangar bay—”

“I don’t care,” Kylo cuts him off. “Move what you need to move to make room for us.”

This highhandedness rankles the Colonel. “Just who are you again?” he bristles.

Kylo pins him with his eyes. “My name is Kylo Ren, but you can call me ‘Sir.’” With that curt announcement, he starts striding down the center aisle of the assembly. 

The Knights all look to each other, shrug, and follow him. 

So does the prickly Colonel. 

And thus begins the ongoing battle between Kylo Ren and Colonel Hux. It’s a powerplay from the very beginning. Kylo starts dictating orders for facilities and quarters as he walks. Hux doesn’t take it gracefully. He’s fuming by the time their group has reached the hangar bay elevators. The attitude only serves to egg Kylo on, Nestor notices. Kylo responds to snippiness with snark. He answers obnoxiousness with arrogance. He has no qualms escalating things with this prissy, turf conscious Colonel. The man is clearly very threatened and Kylo knows it. He might even like it. 

When the first skirmish is over and the Colonel walks away, Nestor shakes his head. “He’s no fun.”

“That’s Brendol Hux’s son, you know,” the Knight beside him remarks. “That guy’s a prince of the First Order and he knows it. His career is golden thanks to his famous father.”

One of the praetorian types speaks up. “Have you ever met Brendol Hux? That guy makes the Leader look warm and fuzzy. It probably sucks to be his son. If you ask me, I pity the guy. No wonder he’s a prick.”

“Then they deserve each other,” Kylo decides. “Let’s stash our stuff and go storm the bridge.”

Everyone looks to him sharply. “Are you serious?” Nestor asks.

“Yes. Let’s go make an appearance and establish where we rank in the chain of command.”

“Where is that again?”

“Above everyone on this ship,” Kylo sniffs.

“It’s going to piss him off some more,” Nestor warns.

“Two birds with one stone,” Kylo smirks. 

After a brief sojourn to the bridge and more confrontation with the Colonel, the Knights get to work on intensive training. Every day, all day, the Knights perfect their craft at war as they get to know one another.

The hacker guy’s name is Wheedon, but he goes by the nickname Static. He’s a colorful guy. Static took freelance jobs as a university student cracking code. He screwed up only one job, but it happened to be hacking the First Order. And when you hack the Order, they don’t report you to the local authorities. They take matters into their own hands. In this case, they recognized talent and hired it for themselves. So now, Static cracks Republic code. He jokingly refers to himself as having been kidnapped by a press gang with an offer he couldn’t refuse. But he’s been a star ever since. He delights in his work, calling security protocols ‘puzzles’ and firewalls ‘challenges.’ It’s all a game to him, Nestor suspects. He’s a desk jockey, so he’s not much of an athlete. But no one expects him to fight Luke Skywalker. He’s the guy who’s going to get the rest of the Knights teed up to fight the Jedi.

The explosives dude is frankly a little scary. His name is Jonar and he’s more anarchist than Order true believer. Nestor privately suspects that he would work for anyone who paid him. But since terror groups are notoriously short of funds and the Republic isn’t hiring, that just left the Order. In addition to his gig as a Knight, Jonar has been roped into consulting on the Starkiller project. It means he misses a lot of combat training sessions. But that’s fine because like Static, Jonar is brains, not brawn. 

Two of the praetorian trainees, Omar and Carlos, are friendly rivals and longtime training buddies. They are combat obsessed, running more drills than anyone else. Omar favors a weapon that looks like an axe. He wields it amazingly fast, like a broadsword. Carlos prefers to use a flat machete sword. It’s shorter but more functional since it is also a rifle. Nestor finds these unusual weapons to be limited in application. They are really only effective for hand to hand combat. But they are a far better match for Skywalker’s lightsaber than his own gun is, Nestor knows. 

The third praetorian trainee is a quiet guy named Pedro. He’s soft spoken and nice. Pedro lacks the loud macho bravado of the other two, although he is their equal in skills. He’s actually a good counterpoint to their high energy demeanor. Pedro has a low-key coolness about him. But when he swings his scythe-like weapon, he’s anything but chill. 

Kylo drills daily with the praetorians with his sword. Their foursome will be the ones to personally take on Skywalker. Nestor and the other two are mostly there for backup. Still, looking to increase his skills, Nestor starts learning to fight with a Force pike. Maybe that will save his life when they ultimately find Skywalker.

Nestor also spends an hour a day shooting at Kylo. The guy can stop blaster bolts midair with the Force. It’s an amazing feat. His reflexes are astounding. Nestor sends round after round of stun bolts at Kylo and none get by. He also deflects the shots with his saber, sending them right back at Nestor. It forces him to practice a lot of defensive maneuvers. That means he’s diving to the floor quite a bit. It’s lots of cardio and bruises.

Kylo’s training is not all drills in the gym. The Knights fly too. Nestor’s a decent pilot but he never became really good because that takes too much time in the cockpit. Well, he’s got the time now. He’s in his new TIE Interceptor every day for at least two hours. Flying is the one skill where Nestor has a leg up on the praetorians. Carlos is dismal so Kylo sends him back to the simulator before he kills himself in his new ultra-fast precision tuned ship. 

Nestor quickly gets used to the Knight uniforms but not the helmet. He has trouble getting used to the helmet. “I can’t see a thing in this,” he complains. He gets little sympathy. The praetorians are used to armor and masks. The techie guys just shrug. “Why do we need a mask?” Nestor grouses again.

“Vader had a mask,” Kylo points out, as if this settles the topic. 

“That explains why you need a mask,” Nestor grumbles, “not why the rest of us need a mask.”

Kylo sticks with the patriarchy angle. He points out, “Your father fought the Rebellion in a mask and armor.”

“The Rebellion won,” grumpy Nestor reminds everyone. “Seriously, why do we need these? They’re hot.”

“They look cool,” Carlos replies. “Extra menacing.”

Kylo agrees. “It hides who we are. Anonymity is good because we’re going to be notorious before long. This way,” he theorizes, “you can date Senator Ono’s daughter without fear of arrest on Coruscant.”

“That is an upside,” Nestor has to concede. And, he realizes, the mask hides that Kylo is not much more than a kid. With his long pouty face, the master of the Knights of Ren is more Darth Teenager than Darth Vader. 

Nestor keeps doing his best, as do the rest. But Snoke’s words from the throne room still ring in his ears. Nestor can’t help but worry that he is the weak link in the group. He fesses up his concern one night to Kylo. 

His boss just shrugs. “Snoke chose you, didn’t he?”

“I guess . . . “

“My old man used to say that hokey religions and ancient weapons were no match for a good blaster by your side. You’ve got that at least, Flick.”

“Your dad never fought Luke Skywalker,” Nestor sighs. 

“True. He did try to shoot Vader once though. Didn’t work.”

It’s the first time Kylo has alluded to his family since they began training. Wanting to know more, Nestor pursues the topic. “It must have been weird growing up knowing your parents were enemies with your grandfather.”

Kylo shakes his head and reveals, “I didn’t know. No one told me. I found out that Vader was my grandfather when it was breaking news on the holonet.”

“Ouch.” Nestor cringes for him.

“That pretty much was the end of my mother’s political career. Nothing she ever did for the Rebellion or the Republic could remove the taint of her being Vader’s daughter for her colleagues. Her motives were always suspect after that.” Kylo looks smug about it, too. 

“That’s a big secret to keep.”

“Yeah, it was. My family is full of secrets and lies. Betrayal is what we do best,” Kylo gripes bitterly.

“That sucks,” Nestor commiserates. If nothing else, he has his family’s unconditional support and approval. He’s always valued that, but never more so than now. The Flick family might not have wealth, fame, or power, but they have other things that matter.

“It actually explains a lot,” Kylo says quietly. “Looking back, I realize why everyone was so scared of me, why my mother washed her hands of me, why my father avoided me. All along, there was too much Vader in me. They knew it, but they never explained it. They just let me struggle with it.”

Nestor still doesn’t really understand what Kylo is describing. But geez, that sounds awful. “You were ten when you were sent to Skywalker, right?”

He nods. “They dumped me on Luke. They figured all our family problems were because of the Force. It was their way of justifying abdicating responsibility.” Kylo looks bleak as he all but says he was abandoned.

Seeing his pained expression, Nestor tries a new angle. “What is Skywalker like?”

“Afraid,” Kylo answers immediately. Clearly, this is a topic he has thought about a lot. “Luke was in over his head trying to revive the Jedi Order that died when he was born. He and my mother are slavishly devoted to an idealistic past that never truly existed. I don’t think he ever once questioned whether he should bring back the Jedi. Luke just did it. He didn't learn from the history his own father lived—that the Jedi Order and the Jedi ways will let you down in the end.” 

Kylo now starts speaking about people Nestor doesn’t know. “Luke never realized how manipulated he had been by Kenobi and Yoda. Snoke is right—the Jedi ruined our family. They led my grandfather into a life of pain and suffering, they led my uncle on a foolish quest to restore their power, and they led me into . . .” Kylo pauses as if searching for the right words. “ . . . into this . . .”

Nestor thinks he’s finished, but Kylo is just gaining steam. His words come out intense, fast, and angry now. “The Jedi have no moral high ground where my family is concerned. They deceive as much as the Sith do. A lot of their rules are bullshit. Luke knew it, too. He broke them himself and thought I didn’t notice. The guy was a hypocrite in many ways . . .” 

Kylo’s face hardens as the diatribe continues. “We are all their pawns. Luke and my mother were stolen by the Jedi, separated at birth, and hidden for years. Then, the Jedi trained Luke a little, stuck a sword in his hand, and sent him off to kill his own father without revealing the relationship. Vader was the one to tell Luke who he really was.”

“Shit,” Nestor swears. “I bet that was awkward.”

Kylo smirks. “Especially because Vader had just sliced off his hand. How’s that for a welcome to the family?” He sighs. “The Skywalkers have always been a tough love bunch. My Master is no exception.” Kylo has more allegations now. “The Jedi didn’t tell Luke about my mother either. They kept him in the dark for years about his own twin sister.”

“Why?” Nestor squints. This story keeps getting worse and worse. It’s not the official version of Luke Skywalker and Leia Organa, that’s for sure.

“I assume it was because the Jedi disdained attachments. They didn’t think it is important to know your family. They wanted you to put the Force above all else. The Jedi are cold. They teach you to cultivate emotional distance. You serve others in generic sense, but you aren’t supposed to become close to anyone other than your own Master.”

“Is that why they sent you away so young? Because they don’t want you to have family ties?” Nestor is trying to understand the backstory of this guy who is Snoke’s number two.

“The Jedi Order used to take kids from their families at age three. I got off easy compared to them. Luke probably thought he was being very progressive waiting until I was ten.” 

“But Skywalker was your family. Right?” It’s not like the Senator and her husband sent their son away to a stranger. Skywalker is his uncle.

Kylo looks away. “Yes. Yes, Luke is family.” His boss glances over his direction with true envy in his eyes. “Flick, you are lucky. You’re not cursed with the Force and you have a family that loves you. There are people who care for you for who you are. Not just for what you can do for them.” 

“But surely someone—"

“Luke didn’t love me. I was his Padawan and he felt responsible for me. But he never loved me.” Kylo shakes his head as he adds softly, “I loved him though. Luke was the only parent in my life.”

Kylo looks miserable as he speaks of these memories. Like he might cry. But he also looks scarily determined. Like he is capable of anything or anything right now. For this is the power of the Dark Side channeled deep by strong emotion and ready to strike. “I blame the Jedi,” Kylo hisses with palpable resentment. “They fought over my grandfather, then they fought over Luke. Now, they fight over me. I’m just the latest tool of the Jedi agenda. It’s why I have to kill Skywalker. This ends with me,” he vows. Nestor believes him, too. 

“So, this fight isn’t really political for you? It’s personal?” Nestor is beginning to realize that Kylo doesn’t care about governing the galaxy so much as he cares about revenge. This is far more about hating the Jedi than it is loving the Empire, he suspects.

Kylo nods. “The Force is very personal. And where my family is concerned, the personal is political. The future of the galaxy has doesn’t hinge on who holds the Core or the Mid Rim,” he scoffs. “The future of the galaxy depends on the fate of the Skywalkers.” Kylo must realize how grandiose that sounds because he abruptly swears, “Fuck! You’ll never understand this. Why am I telling you this?”

“Because I’m your friend.”

Kylo shoots him a warning look. “Sith don’t have friends. They have enemies and allies.”

“Then I’m your ally,” Nestor reasons. Feeling a bit sheepish and gushy, he nevertheless promises, “I’ve got your back, boss.” 

Cynical Kylo sneers, “You’d be the first.”

Nestor refuses to be pushed away. “Alright, then. I’m the first.”

That loyalty earns him another warning. “Don't let me down. I kill people who let me down.”

Kylo never says another word about the Jedi or his family after that. It’s like he had pent up emotion to unload and now he’s good for another few weeks. The guy has serious issues, Nestor thinks privately. So it’s good for him to vent a little. It’s help Nestor understand his boss and their mission a little better as well.

All of the Knights are single. And, well, one perk of the _Finalizer _is all the mixed sex interaction. That’s a welcome change for the guys. There are no female praetorians and bomb making has dismally low female representation, as does hacking and bodyguard work. But on the _Finalizer_, all Order occupations are present and that means plenty of girls and girl watching opportunities.

The topic comes up the first night when the Knights occupy the officer’s lounge and Kylo gives the go-ahead for Carlos to start buying everyone drinks on Snoke’s credits. Carlos scans the room and heads straight for a group of female officers sitting around a table in the corner. 

“Can he do that?” Nestor frets. “That no-fraternizing rule has some pretty harsh consequences.” The Order frowns on romances between personnel. 

Kylo shrugs. “We’re not military. We can’t violate the rule. And even if we could, you have no rank so you can’t get demoted. Plus, Snoke’s not going to kill you over it and neither will I.”

That’s express permission as far as the Knights are concerned. Every woman on the ship now becomes a potential date for a Knight. 

Static turns out to be the most girl crazy. But he’s not trolling the officer’s lounge for hot lieutenants. Instead, he hangs out afterhours at the onboard swimming pool. Coincidentally, it’s in time for the women’s stormtrooper swim team practice. So when Omar remarks that there’s just something about a girl in shiny officer boots, Static says he prefers his girl watching out of uniform. That gets everyone’s attention. Static reveals his new favorite hangout and the Knights head down to C-Deck for swim practice that very night. 

It fast becomes an impromptu pool party, with Knights mingling with the trooper girls dripping in their regulation black tank suits. Then Carlos throws Omar in the pool. Soon, everyone gets in the pool—clothed or not—as standoffish Kylo looks on smirking. By the end of the second week, swim practice is a thrice a week full-on party with resourceful Jonar DJ-ing the music on a sound system he rigged from spare parts he found in the ship’s workshop. The Knights are there, the trooper girls are there, and so are some of the ship’s tech guys who Jonar and Static have befriended. Word gets around, invitations are made, and the party grows each time. Using his ‘I can take whatever I want’ Knight status, Carlos commandeers cold beer from the commissary and now the party is lit as well. 

The pool party is where Kylo meets the navigation girl. She’s a lieutenant fresh out of the Academy who is on her first assignment. She’s cute enough and shy, like Kylo. They strike up a conversation when she comes to swim laps for her workout one night. He’s standing watching the party from afar and she’s standing watching the party from afar as she towels off. That’s when Kylo says, “I’ve seen you on the bridge.” It’s what counts for heavy flirting from Kylo Ren. 

But the girl keeps coming for swim workouts and Kylo keeps showing up to sullenly sip beer and watch everyone else having fun. After a week he and the navigation girl progress from silent head nods, to sheepish ‘hellos,’ to an actual conversation. It’s a little tortured. Nestor hangs close by for moral support as she talks artlessly about star chart anomalies and the treachery of black holes and Kylo hangs on every word like it’s poetry. The whole thing is very high school. But something tells Nestor that Kylo never had the high school experience. They probably frowned on even this sort of chaste romance at Jedi camp.

More and more, Nestor gets the sense that for the first time in a long time—maybe ever—Kylo is around people his age. He’s painfully uncomfortable about it all, standing on the periphery pretending to be aloof and dropping the occasional biting criticism. It’s a defense mechanism, Nestor comes to realize. The guy just seems uncomfortable in his own skin. He’s fine when he’s barking orders in training or doing his Vader thing stalking the bridge. But outside the context of conflict, Kylo seems very hesitant. It seems odd to say about a guy who marches around the _Finalizer_ commanding everyone he sees, but Kylo Ren seems to lack confidence. 

Still, at times, he manages to look almost happy. Not that you would know it if you didn’t know him. The guy never smiles. He seldom relaxes. The Apprentice is always on edge. Glowering. Brooding. Except, of course, when he’s not. Kylo alternates between an intense, aggressive, sardonic asshole and a surprisingly vulnerable, but reasonably personable dude. One is the guy Nestor met on Coruscant and one is the guy who talked history with Dad on that visit home. The thing is, you never know which Kylo you are going to get. It’s not that he’s horrible all the time. It’s more like that he doesn’t know how to to relate to people other than conflict. Kylo’s years in Jedi training purposely avoiding close relationships apparently have left their mark.

All the time together helps the Knights build camaraderie. But more than anything, the Knights bond around pranking Hux. By the third week, the Colonel gets wind of the pool parties. He marches in one night to shut down things. After Hux gives a longwinded rant with lots of three and four syllable words, everyone looks expectantly to Kylo who drawls acidly, “You’re not invited.” 

The Colonel is undeterred. This is unauthorized fraternizing, he alleges, pointing to the many crew members who are in attendance. He orders the crew under his command to disperse and that ends the fun immediately.

Cheeky Static fires back by hacking the ship’s intercom system. The Colonel starts each day with announcements and a rousing speech that is much parodied behind his back. But when Hux next gives his regular morning briefing, the sound of crickets chirping sounds in the background. The next day, it’s a bantha loudly mooing. It goes downhill from there as the amplified background noise gets more and more puerile. It’s harmless, but not harmless. Because it hits Hux where it hurts—his rigid sense of decorum and dignity. Making him a buffoon stings far worse than Static throwing a punch. The whole ship snickers at Hux. Static keeps it up a week before Kylo tells him to knock it off. No one wants to hear fart noises broadcast over the _Finalizer_ intercom first thing in the morning.

Hux gets his revenge. Kylo continues his slow burn romance over drinks with the navigation girl in the officer’s lounge. He finally works up the nerve to ask her to have dinner with him. It’s a real date. Probably the first real date for both of them. But she’s a no show when the appointed night arrives. It turns out that Hux has gotten wise to the pairing. He reassigned navigation girl off his ship immediately. 

Kylo is livid. And unlike Snoke’s trolling, Kylo doesn’t have to take it. He proves his Sith cred when he marches into the Colonel’s quarters and proceeds to trash them with his lightsaber. 

After that incident, the Admiral intervenes and brokers an uneasy peace. The daily war of words on the bridge continues between Kylo and the Colonel, but it never goes any farther. 

All this conflict seems a bit unnecessary to Nestor. It occurs to him that Kylo and the Colonel are far more alike than they are different. Both are high strung and insecure and making their way in the shadow of an overbearing family legacy. They’re both prissy in their own ways, too. Petulant and petty. Perhaps that’s why they can’t get along, Nestor theorizes. Kylo and Hux are just too alike. Maybe they should be friends, but they are bitter enemies for now.

The busy weeks pass quickly. Before long, it is time for the Knights to present themselves to Supreme Leader Snoke yet again. They dutifully arrive back at the Leader’s bunker to receive orders for their first mission. This time, the Knights troop in and everyone takes a knee. There might be only one Apprentice, but they all serve the Sith. Nestor’s days of military salutes performed when standing at attention are behind him. He’s a Knight of Ren now.

Thankfully, this time there is no Force lightning. The Knights are on time and no one dares look askance at the Leader’s sartorial choices. The sparkly gold dress is gone, however. The Leader wears a long black hooded cloak that makes him look very Darth Snoke. It is what Nestor was expecting all along. 

“Arise, Knights,” Snoke bids them formally. “Are they ready, Apprentice?”

“Yes, Master,” Kylo replies without hesitation.

“Are you ready, Apprentice?”

“Yes, Master.”

Old Snoke grunts. “We shall see . . . We shall see . . . “ He proceeds to give them their inaugural mission. The Knights are to pilfer the Museum of the Republic on the capital world of Hosnian Prime. 

“Steal their Jedi treasures and bring them to me,” Snoke purrs. “Let us see what Skywalker deemed important enough to preserve for posterity. Do not fail me,” he admonishes, adding, “Succeed or die trying.”

“Yes, Master,” Kylo answers as Nestor gulps.


	5. chapter 5

Under cover of darkness on an otherwise unremarkable Tuesday night, a closed speeder pulls up alongside one of Hosnian Prime’s local landmarks. Six men alight. They are covered head to toe in black. From strange helmets, to armored tunics, to gloves, to heavy combat boots, these men are clearly nefarious. They have come dressed for war. They are brandishing weapons and moving with purpose as they burst through the side door of the loading dock to the Museum of the Republic.

As soon as they step inside, Nestor taps his helmet. “Hold on. I’m picking up some interference in my earpiece.” What is that awful music? It’s distracting. And how is this happening? They just did a comlink sync in the speeder. “Is anyone else hearing this?” He looks around.

“That’s not interference. That’s heist music,” Jonar declares happily. “Now, let’s do this!” He pumps the air with his gloved fist.

“What the Hell?” Nervous Nestor responds with annoyance, glaring through his helmet at his fellow Knight. Static and Jonar are like overgrown boys sometimes. Always up for a prank and constantly egging each other on. But there’s a time and a place for everything, and their first real mission is not the time for this stunt. 

“Whaaat??” Jonar reacts as if he’s the one overreacting. “Think of it like the soundtrack on a holonet show. Gotta have some heist tunes for when you steal shit. And we’re stealing shit to-night!” He pumps his fist again.

Nestor isn’t amused. “For fuck’s sake—“

“It was Static’s pick. What, you don’t like it?” Jonar is coy.

“Nestor would prefer the Imperial March,” Kylo snickers. 

“Copy that, boss. Next time, the Imperial March on repeat.”

Nestor groans. Is no one taking this mission seriously? “Cut the chatter, cut the music, and let’s get going,” he grumbles. “Static, go do your thing.”

Static finds the nearest dataport, plugs in, and easily disables the security. He manages to do it in a way that is completely undetectable. The silent alarms that had sounded on their forced entry now register as false. Cancel signals are transmitted throughout the system to everyone who might be monitoring. The sentient guards watching the camera feeds in their command post continue to see blank hallways and empty rooms like always. They are completely unaware that six intruders are strolling through the empty building afterhours. The only obstacles remaining are the roaming security droids. Nestor takes out two with his blaster. Kylo handles the rest with his sword. 

Inside the museum is a collection of artifacts going back thousands of years. Their significance and the events and times they represent are described on looping video clips of interviews with New Republic and Old Republic officials. As Nestor expects, it’s a lot of self-congratulatory sentiment. Like a propaganda film disguised as a documentary and packaged as a museum. 

The exhibits are designed to unfold in chronological order. As you walk through, you experience the story of the Republic from the beginning, to the fall, to the rebirth. It starts with the early days of the Republic, the Mandalorian War, and the Great Galactic War with the rival Sith Empire. Then you walk through a section devoted to the ‘Pax Republica,’ or the millennia long period of stability and prosperity that lasted until the Separatist Crisis kicked off the Clone Wars. Next, you hear about the fall of the Republic, the end of the Jedi Order, and the founding of the Empire. After that, there’s quite a bit of space devoted to the Rebellion and the founding of the New Republic. The Knights walk by a special exhibit entitled ‘Alderaan Gone, but Never Forgotten’ and something called an immersive Death Star experience, whatever that means. 

The history is told from the Republic’s point of view, naturally. There are lots of stories of heroism and martyrdom, and much exhortation of freedom and equality. And, really, Nestor has no issue with those values in the abstract. It’s the implementation of the Republic’s agenda that frustrates him. 

But the Knights are not here for a history lesson. They head for their destination. It’s a small room where a collection of Old Jedi Order paraphernalia is displayed alongside detailed firsthand accounts of the Jedi Purge and Order 66 from former clone troopers and Jedi who survived in hiding. On the walls hang several portraits of famous Jedi Knights that somehow survived the Temple burnings. 

Carlos and Omar start smashing display cases and bagging the loot while Pedro and Nestor stand guard at the doorway. The goal is to be as efficient as possible. To get in and get out undetected. 

Everyone else is standing around. “Who’s that little green dude?” Static asks, pointing to a painting of an alien brandishing a lightsaber.

“Grand Master Yoda,” Kylo answers absently. He’s focused elsewhere on a different painting of a dead Jedi. This one is human and young. The man is dashing in his formal robes with saber held high and an expression that means business.

Static walks up beside Kylo to read the caption aloud. “Obi-Wan Kenobi, also Ben Kenobi. Jedi of the Old Republic.” Static shakes his head. “Never heard of him.”

“He saved Leia Organa off the Death Star and he taught Luke Skywalker,” Kylo responds under his breath. But with the comlink open, the whole team can hear everyone else speaking. “He survived the Purge and lived to help the Rebellion.”

“Yeah? Doesn’t ring a bell. Never heard of him,” Static repeats. 

“My parents named me for him,” Kylo reveals. His voice is a hiss of condemnation. “For the man who maimed Lord Vader and conspired to turn his children against him.” It’s more intriguing references to Kylo’s murky past, although Nestor is the only one who realizes it. “Skywalker and his sister are Kenobi’s victims, but they can’t see it.” Kylo sighs audibly over the comlink. “At least Vader got him in the end. They dueled on the first Death Star.”

Listening Carlos looks over and grunts. “The only good Jedi is a dead Jedi.”

“Agreed.” His bitter reverie broken, Kylo curtly orders, “Bag the stuff and let’s go.”

They finish pilfering the exhibit and head for the exit. The Knights depart a different route than they came in. That means a few more security droids to take out as they sneak through the New Republic section of the museum. 

The route brings them face to face with Luke Skywalker . . . sort of. They come to a brief halt before a looping recording of Jedi Master Luke Skywalker himself speaking of his plan to rekindle the Jedi Order. He smiles genially at the end and closes with the Old Republic benediction ‘May the Force be with you’ as a deep voice from offscreen declares him a legendary hero. Then, the camera pulls back to show a wide shot of the smiling Jedi standing among a dozen or so young people dressed similarly. They must be his students.

“This isn’t a museum, it’s a fucking theme park of hubris,” Kylo complains.

“So this is our guy?” It’s Pedro’s voice.

“Yeah, that’s him. Years ago.” 

Nestor watches the recording as it replays. Luke Skywalker is kind of short. Far less imposing looking than Nestor would have guessed. He’s in his middle years with a full beard that is slightly darker than his hair. He looks like a regular guy, actually. Not like the man who overthrew an Empire. But looks can be deceiving, Nestor recalls, thinking of Snoke in his sparkly dress. 

“Legendary hero? More like villain,” Nestor sniffs. And wait—look at that long faced, dark haired, big eared boy in the back row of students. Blink and you will miss him. But Nestor thinks he just saw a glimpse of the former Ben Solo. 

“He’s no hero.” Kylo’s voice is intensely aggrieved. “He was never a hero. He was a fool trying to convince himself of lies others told him that he later learned to be false. But instead of admitting those lies, he spread them himself.”

“Yeah? Well, here.” Static shoots his blaster at the screen. And misses. “Now, I can say I’ve been in combat,” he sheepishly jokes. 

“You didn’t even hit him,” Kylo groans. He stares angrily at the galling video of their arch foe as it replays yet again. “Flick, snipe that fucker between the eyes, will you?”

Nestor obliges. He shoots the screen and it goes dark.

“We’re done. Let’s go.” They can see the exit from where they stand.

“Not yet, boss. One more thing.” It’s Jonar pulling off his backpack to open it up. He kneels on the floor to carefully extract a complicated looking object with a tangle of wires.

“What is that?” Nestor is anxious to be gone.

“It’s a bomb.”

“Yes, I know it’s a bomb. That wasn’t in the plan.”

“It is now,” Jonar responds. 

Kylo smirks, “Well played. But can you detonate off site?”

“Of course,” the Knight bombmaker answers. “I just need a few seconds.”

He finishes setting up his equipment and then the Knights exit and head for their waiting speeder. They fly many blocks away before Jonar judges them to be at a safe distance. “Ready?” Jonar looks to Kylo.

“I guess we have to be,” Nestor grumbles. 

Kylo gives the go ahead. “Light it up.”

The explosion is enormous. Ear pounding and bone rattling even at this distance. But Jonar has something special planned for this stunt. There is a momentary delay after the initial blast before the real show begins. It turns out that Jonar has embedded colorful fireworks in the bomb. They launch a split second following the main explosion and now they trigger. It’s a minute of fanciful, colorful celebration to cap off the gratuitous destruction.

“Happy Empire Day, fuckers!” Jonar yells at the top of his lungs. He and Static high five.

But Carlos is a somewhat literal guy. He frowns and remarks, “It’s not Empire Day. Empire Day is next week.” The holiday is no longer publicly observed, of course. 

And that comment completely misses the point. As the speeder makes a getaway, Nestor speaks up. “Great. So, now we’re terrorists? Blowing up shit just to do it? To get attention and make headlines?”

“Hey, one man’s patriot is another man’s terrorist,” Jonar shrugs. “Luke Skywalker was a hero to the Rebellion but a terrorist to the Empire. We have his role reversed.”

“Nestor, if you prefer,” Omar holds up the bag of Jedi loot, “you can call yourself a thief instead. But terrorist sounds more badass to me. Jonar, you’re a genius.”

Static guffaws. “Flick, you can be the respectable thief who hangs out with us terrorists.”

Nestor scowls over at Kylo who’s flying the speeder. “Are you cool with this?” he demands.

The boss is unconcerned. “Who cares? That wasn’t a museum, it was a monument to fools who didn’t learn from history and are anxious to repeat it.”

“There were security guards in the museum,” Nestor points out. “They weren’t our enemy. They were just guys doing their jobs.”

“They’re dead now,” Kylo states the obvious. He’s unrepentant. “Wrong place, wrong time. Tough luck for them. Besides, Snoke probably would be disappointed if we didn't kill someone tonight.”

“They’re gonna die anyway once the Starkiller is up and running,” Carlos reasons. It’s logic that is hard to refute.

The Knights of Ren end up killing eight people, both inside and outside the museum. In hyperspace on the shuttle on the way back to Snoke’s bunker, subdued Nestor watches the newsfeed coverage. He mulls it over as sullen Kylo sits across from the haul of Jedi objects brooding. The rest of the guys are in the galley eating dinner. But Nestor isn’t hungry. Apparently, neither is Kylo. He’s in one of his morose moods. For once, Nestor shares it it.

Kylo breaks the silence. “First time killing someone?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.” Nestor’s not happy about it either. He didn’t kill the enemy in battle. He cowardly slaughtered them unaware. And, they might not have been the enemy. This isn’t his father’s trooper days fighting the good fight against the Rebellion. This is taking cheap shots that are meaningless in the larger scheme. 

Maybe it’s a dumb comparison, but bombing a museum killing occupants and neighbors isn’t the same as destroying Hosnia with the Starkiller Base. Turning a super weapon on your enemy’s capital world to immediately turn the tide of a war to give you the strategic advantage is fair game. The civilian deaths will be enormous but the move may well end the conflict in a single offensive. That’s completely different from killing civilians just to blow up a museum. Tonight did nothing to advance the cause of the First Order. It was destruction for the Hell of it. And it bothers Nestor. After all, Snoke said they weren’t butchers. Did no one else hear that but him?

“It gets easier.”

Is that a good thing or a bad thing? Nestor isn’t sure. 

“At least you didn’t know them. You never saw them,” Kylo offers. 

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Trust me, that helps.”

Nestor says nothing. 

“It only counts if you know them.” His boss sounds very convinced of this statement. 

Their usual roles are reversed. Kylo’s the seasoned veteran in this arena. He’s the uncertain, uncomfortable newbie in need of advice. “We’re going to kill a lot of people before we catch up to Skywalker,” Kylo warns. “You need to get used to this, Flick.”

Yeah, he knows. But he doesn’t have to like it. “I guess war is Hell,” Nestor sighs. 

“Yes, yes, it is. None of this is going to be easy. For all sorts of reasons.”

But Nestor still feels like he needs to make his point. That there should be a reason to kill and that reason should advance the Order’s strategic position. So he tells it like it is to his boss, whether he wants to hear it or not. 

“You know, blowing up buildings and killing Skywalker won’t kill the Republic. You have to kill their ideas to win. Otherwise, we’ll be back in the cycle of civil war again even if we prevail. We need to win because we’re better than they are. Not just because we kill more of them.”

Kylo nods. “We will win.”

“How do you know?” Nestor challenges.

“Because Snoke has foreseen it.”

“And you believe him?”

“The Sith deceive but they do not lie,” Kylo answers. 

Nestor is skeptical, but he lets the point go. “Are you going to open those things?” he asks Kylo. The guy’s been staring at the relics for hours now, much like he himself has been staring at the holonet. “I thought you were supposed to open those for clues for where the Temple is.”

“I don't know if I can open them,” Kylo admits softly. He looks embarrassed.

And why is that an issue? “But you have the Force.”

Kylo clarifies. “I guess what I mean is that I don’t know if I should try to open them.”

Miserable Nestor explodes at how tentative Kylo is. “Then why the fuck did we just kill eight people?” he roars. The show of temper is a very rare occurrence for him. But he’s pissed. “We went there for that Jedi shit! Because it was supposed to help us find Skywalker!”

“You probably have to use the Light Side to open them. If they even open, that is. Not every piece of Jedi history hides secrets,” Kylo sheepishly grumbles. 

“The Light Side?” Nestor squints at Kylo. He’s not following the point. 

Kylo explains. “To open them, you have to think like a Jedi. To use the Force like a Jedi would.” The Apprentice looks away and colors as he admits, “I’m conflicted enough as it is.”

“I don’t even know what that means. I don’t know anything about the Force!” Nestor vents.

Kylo meets his eyes and his gaze is steely. “Then know this: this war is about the Force. This war is about my family. Don’t let the politics fool you. Those differences are solvable. The fight between the Jedi and the Sith is not.”

Bullshit. “You’re wrong,” Nestor informs him flatly.

Kylo blinks as if perhaps he has misheard.

“You’re wrong,” Nestor repeats. “Maybe you are fighting over the Force, but the rest of us are not. This war isn’t about the Skywalkers, it’s about the future of the galaxy. About who we want to be, about what our priorities and values are. Look, I don’t know what happened between you and Luke Skywalker, and your parents sure sound shitty. But it’s not all about you. The galaxy isn’t fighting over you.” Damn, this guy is self-centered. The arrogance to think he is the reason for the coming conflict. 

Kylo just looks away and condescends, “You will never understand.”

“I guess not,” Nestor retorts. “I don’t have the magic Force and I’m not born to a fancy family. No one’s making me number two to Snoke in my early twenties.”

“You will never understand.” Kylo shakes his head dismissively. It’s irritating. “I had no choice.”

Is he whining? Nestor hates whining. He curls his lip in contempt. “Why do we even care what happens to Skywalker if he stays in hiding?” he now demands. It’s a question that has been bothering him. Has Snoke given his Apprentice this quest just to keep him busy?

“So long as Luke lives, the seed of the Jedi Order lives,” Kylo argues. “Luke is an existential threat.”

“Yeah? Well, he’d have to come out of hiding to be an actual threat and that’s what we want. Right?”

Kylo doesn’t answer.

“Right?” Nestor presses. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Kylo didn’t want to find his old Master. “Look, Skywalker would have to teach someone new to bring back the Jedi Order. And he hasn’t exactly been the best teacher. You turned Sith and the other students are dead. So why is he our target? Is this purely symbolic? We’re finishing what Vader started, or something like that?”

Kylo looks away. “Luke is dangerous. He has to die.”

“Why?”

“Because he could win,” Kylo admits through gritted teeth. “He could win! And then all this Jedi-Sith Force war stuff will continue indefinitely. Nothing will ever get better,” he half-wails. Yep, he’s definitely whining now.

Nestor is confused. “I thought you said Snoke knows we’re going to win.”

“The future can change. Force visions can mislead. Snoke knows it, too. He is afraid of Luke. He always has been.”

“Yeah, I figured as much,” Nestor nods. He fixes his boss with a probing look now as he demands, “Who is Snoke in all of this?”

Kylo’s eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”

“Where did he come from? How did he learn the Force? Where was he during the Empire years? Because I didn’t see anything about Snoke in that museum we blew up.”

“He was in the Unknown Regions with the Imperial exiles.”

“Yes, I know the official version. What’s the real story on that guy?” Nestor presses.

“He was in exile.”

“Like Luke?”

“Yeah, basically.”

“Why?”

“Because Snoke’s Apprentice Darth Sidious turned on him, stuck a lightsaber through his face, and stole the Empire he plotted, that’s why.”

“Wait—Snoke and the Emperor—”

“Yes. Snoke sat out the Empire and the Rebellion and bided his time.”

“For what?” Why didn’t Snoke just fight it out with the Emperor for control? “If Snoke’s so powerful, what was he waiting for?”

“For me.”

Ugh. That’s such a Kylo answer. This guy thinks the whole universe revolves around him. The weird thing is that he doesn’t seem happy about it. More like resigned, Nestor judges. “Why? Because you’re a magical Skywalker with the Force?”

“Yes.” 

Damn, this petulant kid has a strong streak of megalomania. The air of entitlement that clings to Kylo Ren cannot be underestimated, Nestor thinks. 

“Snoke knows Luke Skywalker won’t kill me. Not now. Flick, think about it. That makes me the perfect Apprentice.”

Nestor slowly nods. “Yeah . . . yeah . . . you’re hunting the guy who won’t fight back. He hides so he doesn’t have to confront you? Is that it?”

“Part of it. Luke wouldn’t fight Vader. He won’t fight me. Not after what happened.”

“So, you and Snoke win by default,” Nestor reasons. Which gets him back to that same old question, “So why are we bothering to hunt him down again?” Nestor’s not buying this existential threat argument unless Skywalker starts training more Jedi. “Well?”

Kylo looks very troubled as he half-whispers. “I have to kill him to prove myself Dark enough to balance the Force.”

Huh? “What?”

“Killing your kin is a Dark Side rite of passage. That’s why I have to confront him. Only then will I be strong enough with the Dark Side to equal the Light that I was born with.” Kylo looks so woebegone as he solemnly laments, “I cannot deny the truth that is my family. I cannot escape my destiny.”

“Riiight.” Nestor fights the urge to roll his eyes. Just how fucked up is the Force obsessed leadership of the First Order, he wonders. Anyone who thinks the First Order is the revenge of the flyover systems who are sick and tired of the preachy climate of Core cultural privilege is wrong. Apparently, this isn’t about making new hyperspace lanes, economic development, bringing down spice cartels, and fair trade tariffs. Because if you listen to Kylo Ren, it’s about a dysfunctional family obsessed with an outdated religion. For a moment, Nestor wonders if he and all the other First Order supporters have made a deal with the devil to advance their cause. Who’s using who, he wonders. 

“Well, I guess there’s always your mother,” Nestor suggests offhand. “She’s the enemy and we can find her instead. Why isn’t she the target?”

Kylo shoots him a look. “Leave my mother out of this,” he hisses.

“That Resistance movement she’s putting together is going to be formidable, mark my words,” Nestor warns. “It’s no wonder she’s Vader’s daughter. That lady likes war.” And if the Starkiller Base ever gets up and running and takes out Hosnia, that will leave only Leia Organa and her zealots as the last line of defense for the galaxy. She’ll gain even greater stature then.

“We’re leaving her to Snoke. She has a capture, no-kill order on her.”

Nestor blinks. “Really?? Come on--”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because Snoke wants to give her a chance to come home.”

“Er . . . what??”

“He approached Vader and he approached Luke, but he never approached my mother.”

Good call on that, Nestor thinks to himself. Leia Organa agreeing with Leader Snoke and the First Order about anything is a very long shot. Not even worth the bother. 

“He wants our family to be together,” Kylo explains. “She’ll never agree to it, but he wants to offer anyway.” And damn, look how haunted Kylo looks now. More lost kid than grown man who is number two to the Supreme Leader. All Nestor can think is that Kylo is so unprepared for what lies ahead.

His references to family and home don’t get past Nestor either. He raises an eyebrow. “Are you telling me what I think you’re telling me? Because Snoke’s not even human. He can’t possibly be your biological family.”

“He’s not. But he is our family in the Force.”

Whatever. It’s more vague metaphysical Force crap that Nestor can’t relate to. 

His skepticism must show, because Kylo immediately elaborates. “Snoke created my grandfather in the Force. He was conceived by Force sorcery. Unfortunately, the Jedi found him first. It’s why Vader was raised Jedi and not raised Sith.”

“Are you for real?” Kylo looks very earnest. But Nestor is dubious of this claim, just like he’s dubious of the Force. Obviously, the Force exists. He’s seen Snoke shoot lightning and Kylo freeze blaster bolts. But that doesn’t mean that everything those guys claim about the Force is true. There’s no mystical energy field that controls destiny. People shape destiny. Important people like the Skywalkers. They may claim that God the Force does it, but that might be a way to abdicate responsibility . . .

Kylo shoots him a frank look. “Nestor, you can’t make this shit up.”

That’s for damn sure. “If you did, no one would believe it.” Nestor shoots his boss a sideways look. “I’m not sure I believe it.”

Again, Kylo is completely sincere. “It’s true. All of it.”

It would explain a few things. Nestor understands better now why Kylo is the Apprentice waiting in the wings. It’s more than his Force abilities, it’s outright nepotism. “So Snoke is your great-grandfather in the Force, or something like that?”

“Yes.”

“Is everyone in this war related?”

“Everyone who matters is.”

The smug comment rubs Nestor the wrong way. “Fuck you, Kylo, and fuck that attitude!” he snaps. “Us little people matter too! Look, you had better keep the family tree to yourself. Because no one wants to feel like the chump you used for your revenge!” he huffs. “At least pretend you give a damn about the future of the galaxy to keep up appearances for our sake.” Nestor fumes. “How the Hell did you inherit the Force without inheriting that? Because everyone else in your family seems to have strong political leanings.” 

“I’m fighting for myself, not some crusade,” Kylo sniffs. “Rigid ideologies are what got us into this mess in the first place. Look, I’m fighting for the future of the Force. The Jedi Order needs to end.”

“And then what? What happens when Skywalker is dead and all his Old Republic hocus pocus dies with him?” 

Kylo looks like he hasn’t contemplated anything beyond killing his uncle. He blinks and bites his lip. “I don’t know . . . ”

That’s a very frustrating answer. “Then figure it out,” Nestor grumbles. “Because Vader knew what he was doing. He fought the Jedi but he also fought to make a great Empire. How old was Vader when he became number two Sith?”

“About my age.”

“Yeah? Then step it up. You’ve got big shoes to fill.”

Nestor decides he’s hungry after all. He heads for the galley for dinner. It’s mostly to put some space between him and Kylo. Nestor is worried that he said too much to the boss. That he has doomed his career by pissing him off. Maybe that was borderline insubordination even. But oddly enough, Kylo seemed happy to take it. It’s almost as if the kid wants to confide in someone—anyone. He keeps spilling big secrets like they are no big deal. Kylo also seems very used to criticism. Maybe that’s a legacy of being first Luke Skywalker’s trainee and then Snoke’s Apprentice. Kylo Ren seems to expect people to find fault with him. It makes Nestor wonder how much disapproval he has seen. 


	6. chapter 6

Many hours later, the shuttle lurches and shudders as it drops out of hyperspace. The movement wakes Nestor. 

He opens his eyes to find Pedro standing over him. He and the other guys are all gathered in the small lounge area where Nestor was dozing. “We’re here. Time to get moving.”

“Got it.” Nestor wipes the sleep from his eyes and climbs to his feet to stretch. That’s when he glances out the nearest window. It shows the unmistakable outline of the mega dreadnought, the _Supremacy_. 

“That’s Snoke’s ship,” he breathes warily. As he moves in for a closer look, he doesn’t recognize the planet below that it orbits. “This isn’t the bunker. What system is this?”

“Mustafar,” Kylo answers as he walks in.

“Must-a-what?”

“Mustafar.”

Omar shakes his head. “Never heard of it.”

“It was a Separatist mining world,” the boss informs them. “It’s abandoned now. Uninhabited because it’s volcanic.”

Everyone looks curiously out the windows as the shuttle descends fast into the planet’s atmosphere and begins to skim the surface. The landscape looks very forbidding. There are bits and pieces of cooled lava rock outcroppings here and there, but mostly there are fast flowing red-yellow lava fields as far as the eye can see. The air appears thick with greenish gases that are no doubt poisonous to human lungs. 

“I can see why it was abandoned,” Carlos speaks aloud what they all are thinking. “Why are we here?”

“To bring the relics to the castle.” 

As Kylo speaks, the shuttle mounts a high rise. In its wake is revealed a looming black dual spired fortress. It is a dramatic sight perched atop a dammed river of molten rock. 

“Oooh. THAT castle,” Jonar is impressed. “Vader’s castle, right?” 

Everyone looks to Kylo who nods. 

Static sizes it up with approval. “Lava waterfall. That’s cool.”

Jonar agrees. “It’s got style. Trust it to Lord Vader to have a badass crib. This makes Snoke’s bunker look like dump.”

Nestor isn’t so sure. Because why would anyone want to live here? “This place looks like some version of old-fashioned Hell.” All fire and brimstone and suffering in eternal damnation. Glancing at the giant tuning-fork shaped black building they fast approach, Nestor can’t help but think that if Hell has a headquarters, this must be it.

Kylo shoots him a sideways look. He sounds very Snoke-like when he responds priggishly, “There is no heaven and there is no Hell. There is only the Force.” 

“Got it,” Nestor dutifully nods. ‘Don’t diss the Force’ is one unspoken rule of being a Knight. Even the unintentional, uninformed diss can get you in trouble with the touchy boss.

The shuttle is landing now as the men continue to crowd the windows for a peek. Impatient Kylo heads to deploy the ramp, ordering, “Come on. Bring the bag.”

And that’s when Nestor learns that seeing Mustafar is nothing like feeling Mustafar. Walking down onto the landing pad into the volcanic heat takes your breath away. It’s like marching into a blast furnace. The heat assaults you physically. It’s not just the extreme temperature. There are faint burning embers adrift in the air that prick at your skin and land to smolder on your clothes. The air is pungent with a sulfurous stench that wrinkles your nose and makes your eyes water. All around the landing pad, molten rock hisses as it releases trapped gases. It’s as if the deadly planet is exhaling like some massive living creature heaving in its death throws. 

“Wow,” Nestor remarks under his breath, and not in a good way. 

He’s right beside Kylo who reacts differently. “Wow is right . . . I love it,” he announces quietly as he looks around. And for the life of him, Nestor can’t see what there is to like about Mustafar, let alone love. He gives his boss a questioning look, but it doesn’t register. Kylo has momentarily stopped short and stands with his head thrown back and eyes closed. Pleasure is written all over his face.

Weird, Nestor thinks to himself. Just weird. “That guy Milo is here.”

“Snoke is here too,” Kylo replies without opening his eyes, making Nestor wonder whether someone told him that or whether the Force told him that. He still doesn’t understand how the Force works. 

Snoke’s manservant awaits them by the entrance. Dignified Milo stands next to an even older man in flowing black robes who looks like he could be Darth Sidious’ creepier brother. He is wizened and stooped with strong, almost leonine features and bright, sharp eyes. The guy definitely looks like he belongs here, Nestor thinks to himself. 

“This is he?” the unknown man looks to Milo as Kylo strides up with Nestor and the other Knights following.

Milo performs the introductions. “Vanee, this is the Apprentice Kylo Ren. Vanee is the castle caretaker,” he informs Kylo. “He serves the Master. Before that, he served Lord Vader.”

Vanee bows low over his walking cane. “Welcome to Mustafar Castle, my Lord.”

“The Master has not given the Apprentice his title yet,” Milo corrects him.

The old man smiles his easy deference. “Ah, yes. No doubt it will be forthcoming soon. Forgive the lapse. And who are these men?” Vanee looks past Kylo to where Nestor stands with the others. 

“They are the Knights of Ren. They serve the Sith.”

“Ah, yes. Very good. Welcome, Gentlemen.” Vanee gestures to the entrance behind him in the manner of a host. “The Master awaits inside. Let us join him.”

Everyone dutifully troops into Castle Vader. Their slow pace to accommodate Vanee gives Nestor plenty of time to look around as the group processes through a series of hallways and rooms. Everywhere there are floor-to-ceiling windows that make the castle's dramatic exterior the focal point. By contrast, the interior furnishings are unremarkable and soothing in color, shape, and texture. The living areas Nestor sees are all intimate. Nothing is grand in scale or in decor. Everywhere is the monochromatic look of quiet, lived-in luxury. And, thankfully, it is blissfully cool inside.

Curious Jonar starts asking questions as they go. “So what is this place exactly?”

Vanee answers with pride. “It was Lord Vader’s refuge, a place to retreat from his many obligations to focus on himself. The castle was a gift from Lord Sidious in the early days of the Empire.”

“This sure is a strange place to build a home,” Jonar replies.

“Maybe to some,” Vanee concedes. “But Mustafar had special significance to Lord Vader. He chose it quite intentionally.”

As he takes it all in, Nestor thinks he is beginning to understand. The elegant castle interior feels safe and detached from the violent natural danger that surrounds it. This is an oddly peaceful place, he perceives as they plod along. Nestor is starting to appreciate why the creepy old guy describes it as a refuge. Because for a castle in the middle of a volcanic wasteland, it’s strangely homey. Like you could see a Sith Lord relaxing here in the middle of nowhere where no one would dare bother him. Did Lord Vader hang out here on weekends, drinking beer, eating snacks, and watching sports as he pretended to work on his datapad? Nestor wonders.

Finally, they reach their destination. It’s an expansive sunken living room with another enormous panoramic window overlooking lethal lava sprays. Supreme Leader Snoke stands at the window facing away, a tall black cloaked silhouette against the glowing red landscape. 

That’s what Lord Vader must have looked like when he lived here, Nestor realizes.

Before they can approach to kneel, Snoke speaks without turning. “Apprentice, do you sense it?”

Kylo answers solemnly, “The Force is very strong with this place,” as he takes a knee. The Knights all take the cue to join him on the floor to pay homage to their Master.

Snoke turns. The movement reveals that he is wearing scarlet red robes underneath his black cloak. As usual, the Supreme Leader of the First Order cuts a distinctive figure. He silently bids them to rise with a regal wave before he resumes talking.

“What you sense is a convergence of the Force. A very rare anomaly. Forget any morbid ideas that Lord Vader built his castle here to brood on his defeat by his old Jedi Master. He built this castle here for the convergence. For the Force.” A slow, sly smile creeps across Snoke’s ruined face as he confides, “Like every Sith Lord, Lord Vader craved power.”

Kylo nods. “I could sense it when we came out of hyperspace. It’s like a tear in the Force.”

Snoke looks pleased at this observation. “Yes, yes,” he agrees. “Here the universe came apart at its seams. Here there is a fissure where things from deep within bubble up.”

Kylo struggles to put it into words. “It feels like . . . like . . .”

“Yes?” Snoke looks truly curious.

But Kylo can’t quite find the right words. After a moment, he settles on, “This place is familiar.”

Again, Snoke appears pleased. “Here is the union of powerful Light with powerful Darkness. Here the Force has no sides. There is unity and balance. Here the Force is the Force, neither Dark nor Light.”

Kylo is still trying to place what he senses. He squints as he tentatively ventures, “This is Luke.”

Snoke grunts. “He wishes.”

Kylo persists, “This is Luke. Dark and Light.”

“No.” Snoke is adamant. “Skywalker is in conflict. Like you are in conflict. Here at the convergence, there is harmony, not discord. This, Apprentice, is your goal as a Chosen One. To rule it all.” Snoke purrs out their joint ambition with undisguised lust. “Ultimate . . . unlimited . . . power.”

“Luke is a Chosen One,” Kylo argues back. “If he could be turned—”

“He will not be turned!” Snoke’s tone is sharp and final. He looks irritated by the very suggestion. “Skywalker is a waste of talent. He had the chance to surpass his father and he passed it up. And for that, he will pay dearly.” 

Snoke looks expectantly to his Apprentice. Kylo faces the floor as he dutifully offers up, “Yes, Master.” And once again, Nestor wonders whether Kylo Ren truly wants to kill his uncle.

Snoke must surely see it too because he grunts out his skepticism. Nevertheless, he moves on. “Apprentice, one day I will give you the keys to my kingdom, but for now you receive the keys to this castle. It is your birthright as the next son of Darkness, as the heir apparent to Lord Vader. Mustafar Castle is yours now, Kylo Ren.” 

Kylo sucks in a breath. He’s surprised. “Thank you, Master. I will endeavor to live up to its original master.”

“In time, my worthy Apprentice, in time.” Then Snoke actually smiles. It is a bizarre but oddly genuine look of affection. 

Observing the fleeting expression, Nestor wonders what Snoke looked like before Darth Sidious rearranged his face. Who was he really? Nestor strongly suspects that old Snoke’s past might be even more of a tangled tale than Kylo Ren’s own history. Both men are complex personalities that Nestor has yet to figure out. But if he’s going to succeed in this Knight gig, he has to learn how these Sith guys think. Since there is no way out of this job, he’s going to have to make it work. 

“Now then,” the Supreme Leader switches gears, “what have you brought me? Lay them out.”

Pedro steps forward with the bag of Jedi loot. He removes the artifacts and places them on a low table amid the room.

Looking them over critically one by one, Snoke quizzes his Apprentice. “Have you opened any?

“No, Master.”

Snoke goads, “Afraid?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Never fear. Here at the convergence, merely summoning the Force will trigger them. Here, the Force is the Force. But,” Snoke turns to admonish his pupil firmly, “Apprentice, if I ever catch you dabbling in the Light again, I will make you regret it.” 

“Yes, Master.” 

“You will lose a hand like your uncle and your grandfather did. Then you too can ruminate on the power that physical pain brings.”

“Understood, Master.”

“Good,” Snoke grunts. “Darkness is your current goal. You must learn the Dark Side completely, otherwise you will never reach your full potential.” 

“In time, I will become immune to the Light,” Kylo says hopefully.

Snoke disagrees. “Not a chance, Apprentice. You are who you are. If there is one lesson to take from your time with Skywalker, it is to accept who you are. To embrace your whole self. But you must learn discipline. Now is the time for Darkness. There will be a time for the Light. Now then, let us see what we have here.”

Snoke waves a hand over the first Jedi item. It does nothing. He immediately moves on. The second item is a little cylinder. It levitates and separates. Then, a hologram recording plays. It’s some alien Jedi woman reciting prayers in a singsong voice to a group of pint size Jedi kids. The next three relics do not open. The sixth item, that looks something like a wristwatch, projects a hologram as well. This recording is a long lecture from a stern looking human Jedi Master about the dangers of foresight in the Force. After that, only one of the remaining five relics opens. It is a laudatory retirement speech on the occasion of the retirement of a Jedi Grand Master. Snoke listens impatiently for a few minutes before he rolls his eyes and shuts it down.

“Alas, nothing of any consequence. Vanee, put them with the rest of Lord Vader’s collection,” Snoke orders with a dismissive wave of his hand. 

“Yes, Master,” the old guy croaks and Nestor can’t help but feel a bit disappointed. Their mission to Hosnia has proven to be a bust. All that death and destruction yielded no leads.

Snoke turns back to Kylo. “Bring me more, Apprentice. We shall keep searching for clues while you amass all that remains of the Light.”

“Yes, Master.”

Snoke wags a gnarled clawlike finger at his young protégé. “A thousand generations live in you now, Kylo Ren. You will be the last Jedi before we are done.”

Kylo looks annoyed at these words. “I am Sith,” he hisses indignantly. It’s the first show of independence Nestor has seen from Kylo towards his Master.

Snoke takes it in stride. “Yes, yes,” he agrees breezily, “but you will be more, far more than any of us Darths gone before. Provided, of course, that you complete your training.” He shoots his student a stern look. “Do not disappoint me.”

“Yes, Master,” Kylo resumes groveling. 

“Vanee will show you the castle. It is yours henceforth.”

“Yes, Master. Thank you, Master.” 

“When you are done here, return to the _Finalizer_ and await my orders.” 

“Yes, Master.”

Snoke now slants amused eyes past his Apprentice in the direction of the Knights. “Try to conduct yourself with more dignity in the future. Boys will be boys, but Admiral Blanchard has shown remarkable restraint given your antics.”

“Yes, Master.” Kylo’s face flushes and Nestor mentally girds himself for Force lightning. But none is forthcoming. As far as Snoke’s discipline goes, this reprimand is mild. 

Towering Snoke sweeps from the room and slight Milo hastens to his side. Nestor is about to exhale with relief—interviews with scary Snoke are very nerve racking—when the Leader stops and half turns with a last thought. “Oh, and Apprentice?”

“Yes, Master?”

“Second Lieutenant Trulock was reassigned on my order to Colonel Hux.”

Nestor’s eyes widen. He recognizes the name. That’s the navigation girl. 

“She is not the one for you,” Snoke decrees with icy finality. “Really, Apprentice, you can do better.”

Kylo’s face flames. Nestor feels sorry for the guy. All he did was flirt a little with a nerdy, mousy girl a few times by the swimming pool. Poor Kylo looks humiliated now before his Knights.

Snoke resumes his majestic exit and soon the Knights are alone with the castle caretaker Vanee. Never one to withhold comment, Static turns to Kylo and outright asks, “Is he always this controlling?” 

“Yes,” Kylo sighs. He too looks relieved at his Master’s exit, Nestor notes. He sees now that Snoke might give his student a cool ship, a weird castle, and a posse of Knights to command to rampage across the galaxy. He makes hundreds of troops herald Kylo’s comings and goings at the _Finalizer_ like he’s some young-Emperor-in-training. He even lets the Apprentice kill people on a whim. But in ways that matter, Snoke keeps Kylo on a very short leash. 

“Well, that’s no fun,” Static complains. “What’s wrong with navigation girl?” 

Kylo growls back, “Her name is Tara.”

“Yeah, right. Forgot. But is it Tara he objects to? Or is it girls in general? I’m mean, you guys are the Sith, not celibate Jedi, right?” Static won’t let the topic go. “Because there are plenty more fish in the sea.” 

“Or more fish at the _Finalizer_ pool, to be more specific,” Jonar quips, laughing at his own joke.

“And does the ‘no sex’ rule apply to all of us or just to you?” Static keeps harping. “Because I was thinking that we should do some more raids and then take a little shore leave. You know—a detour to Canto Bight or maybe Coruscant. Vader’s Sith man cave here is cool and all, but there’s no girls here.” Static gestures toward the window. “And that’s a lot of lava. A LOT of lava.”

Poor Kylo looks so miserable that Nestor decides to intervene. “Shut up, Static,” he snaps. Anxious for something—anything—to change the topic, Nestor looks to the castle keeper. “Can we get a tour?” he requests.

Vanee is happy to oblige. The old geezer begins to show them around the fortress. It is surprisingly small. Moreover, a clear minority of the square footage is devoted to living space. Lord Vader did not invite guests, they are told. He brought home the occasional Jedi captive to experiment on in the Force, but that’s it. In fact, there are as many prison cells here as there are bedrooms, Vanee reveals. He sounds sort of proud. And trust it to Lord Vader to have a detention center in his own home, Nestor thinks.

“Where’s his throne? Every Sith castle needs a throne room,” Jonar muses. 

“Darth Sidious was head Sith,” Vanee answers. “He got the throne.” 

“Bummer.” 

His audience might be a bit irreverent, but Vanee seems delighted to have company. As he eagerly describes the castle in its Imperial heyday, Nestor gets the distinct impression that the old guy is very excited that the castle will have a new owner. But the other Knights are not so enthralled with his recitation of fussy minutiae from the past. Bored with the methodical pace of both Vanee and his tour, they take off to explore on their own. That just leaves Nestor tagging along with Kylo and Vanee.

After Vanee conducts them through the ground floor, they head for the upstairs living quarters. Everything is as it was left, Vanee explains. He is not exaggerating. Because while everything is meticulously maintained, the castle feels a bit like walking through a technological time warp. Everything is at least thirty years old, much of it approaching fifty years in age.

The full meaning of Vanee’s words come home to Nestor when their host walks them through the master’s chambers. Vader’s closet still holds everything from extra boots and armor to spare capes. All black, naturally. The belongings are kept like the man himself might come home at any minute even though he’s been dead over twenty years. It adds to the creepy ambiance of the castle. Nestor feels a bit like they are trespassing. As if any minute the heavy breathing masked Sith Lord will appear and he won’t be pleased that his private abode has been so thoroughly intruded. But, to be a good guest, Nestor dutifully takes a look. 

“Maybe you should wear one of these,” he says offhand to Kylo, peering at a row of satin hemmed capes.

But Kylo isn’t listening. He’s looking at the other side of the closet. That rack holds dresses. And, wait—dresses? Kylo looks to him, and then they both look to Vanee. “Vader had a woman?” Kylo asks.

The old man nods. “He had a wife.”

“What happened to her?”

The old guy blinks at the question. “She’s dead. You didn’t know?”

“How?”

“The Jedi killed her.”

“Skywalker?” Kylo guesses.

Vanee shakes his head no. “Probably Kenobi. My old Master was never sure of the facts.”

“Wait—what wife are we talking about?” Kylo’s eyes narrow. “His first wife or the second?”

Vanee answers, “Those items belonged to Lord Vader’s only wife, Padme Amidala Naberrie. Your grandmother, I believe.” The old guy’s eyes dart nervously to Nestor. Vanee is clearly worried that he has spoken out of turn. 

Kylo brushes off the concern. “It’s alright. Nestor knows. He’s the only Knight who knows the truth of my family.” Kylo turns back to the rack of women’s clothes. The dresses are in the ornate style of a bygone era. And they are tiny. Mrs. Darth Vader must have been very petite, Nestor thinks.

“So . . . these are my grandmother’s things?” Kylo surmises.

“Yes. All her things from their apartment on Coruscant are here.”

“Why?” Kylo wonders aloud. “She had been dead years by the time this place was built.”

Vanee meets his eyes. “Lady Vader is why the castle is located here.”

“For the convergence of the Force?”

“Yes. My old Master spent years attempting to revive his wife with the Force. Alas, he never succeeded,” the old guy sighs. “It was a great, great disappointment to him.”

“Of course, he didn’t succeed,” Kylo retorts, “because to cheat death is a power only one has achieved . . .” He turns back to the row of dresses and whispers aloud the name, “Snoke . . .”

Vanee nods. “Snoke waited too long to approach him. And when he did, his pitch was all wrong. Darth Plagueis offered Lord Vader power and Luke Skywalker. He should have offered my old Master his wife back. Lord Vader would have accepted that offer in a heartbeat.” Vanee shakes his head again. “About the time that Luke Skywalker surfaced was when my old Master finally gave up. He returned your grandmother’s body back to the family tomb on Naboo that he stole it from.”

“I’ve been to that tomb,” Kylo says softly. “My mother brought me there once.”

“He still kept her things. I think he couldn’t bear to part with them. They were all he had left of happier times.”

Kylo keeps starting at his dead grandmother’s dresses. “My mother told me that she was the secret wife of a Jedi. That she was killed by Vader when he hunted down Anakin Skywalker for Order 66.”

“That’s the Jedi version,” Vanee sniffs. “Lord Vader told a different tale. He and your grandmother argued here on Mustafar and she left with Kenobi. Alive and well. Days later, she was dead and her newborn children taken. Hidden from their father for decades.” Vanee looks especially grim as he tells Kylo, “I do not know what you have learned of my old Master. But Lord Vader was much more than the newsfeeds and the Jedi judged him to be.”

“I wish I knew him,” Kylo says softly. “Snoke rarely speaks of him.”

Vanee harrumphs. “That’s because he feels guilty. And so he should.” 

That’s an intriguing sentiment, Nestor thinks, but the old guy doesn’t elaborate. Instead, he resumes his storytelling. “When Lord Vader let the dream of reviving his wife die, he took up another obsession: Luke Skywalker. If he could not live with his wife, he wanted to live with the son he had feared lost forever. I think it gave him hope. He needed something to keep him going.” The old man looks thoughtful as he recalls, “My poor Master had so much taken from him over the years . . .”

Kylo whirls. He’s suddenly agitated. “Wait—he knew? He knew about his children?”

“Oh yes,” Vanee confirms. “He had foreseen that his wife would perish. Once he had her body exhumed, the doctors confirmed that she had given birth before she died. But Lord Vader did not know the fate of the children. He only knew that the Jedi had taken them.”

“He knew . . .” Kylo breathes out. His hard eyes find Vanee and stare. “Luke never told me that Vader wanted to find him and my mother before he knew they were Rebels.”

“I don't think Skywalker knew. If Lord Vader told him, he likely would not have believed it anyway. I understand that Skywalker was quite the righteous Jedi back then.”

“Nothing has changed,” Kylo laments bitterly.

Old Vanee’s face softens at the naked hurt in the Apprentice’s face. The caretaker sounds very grandfatherly now. “My boy, I know how you came to join the Sith. I am sorry for what happened. Skywalker is a zealot.”

Kylo looks away and says nothing as Nestor watches closely.

“You are brave to choose this path. Far braver than the Republic’s legendary hero Jedi. I hope, in time, history will vindicate you and our Master,” Vanee commends. 

Kylo still remains silent. He just nods and looks miserable.

The castle steward takes that as his cue to resume his family history. “The Jedi Purge took many years. Most died in Order 66, but plenty survived. Everyone knows that Lord Vader and his Inquisitors hunted down Jedi to finish them off. But few know that he was also searching for information for the fate of his children. The Jedi he brought back here were the ones he thought might know their whereabouts or the whereabouts of Kenobi.”

Kylo is still processing what he has learned. “So all along my grandfather knew that my mother and my uncle were out there?”

Vanee nods. “Lord Vader crossed paths with your mother and didn’t recognize her. But when he crossed paths with his son in the Death Star trench, he immediately understood who he was because of the Kenobi connection to the Rebellion. Lord Sidious was furious about the loss of the Death Star but Lord Vader was secretly delighted. At last, the Force had revealed the identity of at least one of his missing children. Finding Luke Skywalker became his instant obsession. He had spies everywhere in the galaxy.” 

“Lord Sidious wanted revenge for the Death Star, naturally. But,“ Vanee slants sly eyes towards Kylo, “Lord Vader had a different goal in mind. With his son, came the promise of reclaiming what remained of my Master’s old life . . . and the promise of overthrowing Lord Sidious.”

“So the offer to Luke on Bespin to rule the galaxy together was sincere?” Kylo asks hopefully.

“Absolutely.”

Kylo probes for more information. It’s clear he is eating up what he is learning. “I know why Snoke hated Sidious. Why did Vader hate Sidious?”

Now Vanee prevaricates a bit. “There was more than hate there. Lord Sidious could be very good to Lord Vader at times. But, as I think you know, the relationship between Master and Apprentice is always somewhat . . . complicated,” he finishes diplomatically. “I suspect from the beginning, Vader intended to overthrow him, but he lost the ability after he was so gravely injured.”

Kylo agrees, “That’s Snoke view as well.” The current Apprentice now abruptly turns to face Nestor. He sneers, “Do you still think this war is about politics? Do you think any of the past civil wars have been about politics?“

Nestor doesn’t know how to answer because this is a lot of information to take in. But he is saved when Vanee inserts himself. “My old Master searched years for Luke Skywalker--”

“And now I’m searching for Luke Skywalker,” Kylo finishes.

“He is an elusive foe,” the old servant warns. “Watch yourself, Kylo Ren. When Luke Skywalker walks in a room, Sith have a tendency to die.” The old guy’s beady eyes narrow as he confides, “I myself cannot wait for Skywalker to be brought to justice. The Jedi must die for his lack of vision. Lord Vader sacrificed himself for his son. But Skywalker has squandered the opportunity he was given. Foolishly seeking to recreate the past rather than move us forward.”

And this is a sentiment that all three men can agree upon, Nestor thinks. Skywalker must die. Nestor also wants to know if Darth Plagueis is Snoke, can you really resurrect people with the Force, and what it means to be a Chosen One. But he won’t ask. Already, Nestor feels as though he knows too much truth of the Skywalkers. And . . . he’s worried that this truth is dangerous knowledge he might one day regret learning. 

Still, this secret family lore is all so compellingly sad, Nestor observes silently as they leave Vader’s bedroom. The guy mourned his dead wife decades and clearly never moved on. He didn’t want to move on, judging by all her stuff he kept around. How lonely had Lord Vader been inside that suit? Lonely enough to try to talk his Rebel son into joining him. But in the end, reaching out to that prodigal son got him killed. 

And now the conflict continues yet another generation. Once more, Nestor feels sorry for Kylo. The family legacy his moody boss inherits is far more than the Force, Nestor is realizing. And whatever happened between Skywalker and Kylo clearly was not good. Nestor isn’t sure he wants to hear that story. Because if the rest of the family drama is any indication, it will be awful as well. 

“Would you like to see the upper floor?” Vanee invites. He explains, “It is mostly medical in nature.”

Kylo nods yes and together they follow slow Vanee back to the elevator. “What happened to the castle after the Empire fell?” Nestor asks. It’s mostly to make conversation as their trio plods along. 

“We are quite remote. Even during the Empire years, few knew we were here,” Vanee answers. “But eventually, the Rebellion showed up. They must have learned of the castle from captured intelligence. I refused them entrance, of course.”

“And they just went away?” Nestor asks.

“Oh, no,” Vanee chuckles wryly. “They shot me first.” He picks up the hem of his flowing black robe to reveal a mechanical leg. “I am a bit like my old Master as a result.”

No wonder the guy walks so slowly, Nestor thinks. And geez, he must have been an old man even back then. Couldn’t the Rebels just stun him? 

But old Vanee seems unperturbed. “I don’t know what they were expecting to find here, but they were clearly disappointed. They certainly made a mess. But in the end, they didn’t take anything of real value. Lord Vader’s collection of Jedi artifacts remained intact.”

“Then years later, Master Plagueis showed up. There were rumors that he was still alive so I knew it was a possibility, of course. We all knew Milo was his man, but we didn’t know Milo was Plagueis’ eyes and ears for years after he supposed died.” Vanee shrugs. “I told Lord Plagueis the same thing I told the Rebels,” he recounts proudly, “that I would surrender this castle to the heirs Luke Skywalker or Princess Organa and no one else. This is not an Imperial installation, it is a private home, mind you.”

“How did Snoke take that refusal?” Kylo is intrigued.

“Well. He approves of loyalty. But once I understood that he was Lord Vader’s father, I could hardly refuse him entry. Plagueis is one of the family.” Vanee now muses. “There were lots of rumors about this place during the Empire years. Fantastical lurid stuff. Sith ghosts, bloody native uprisings . . . things like that. None of it ever happened. Mustafar Castle has had a quiet existence save those two occurrences.”

The old guy looks over approvingly on Kylo. “It will be good to have another Skywalker around here. I am proud to serve Lord Vader’s father and grandson.”

“I wish I’d known him,” Kylo says again under his breath. 

As promised, the remaining floor is a large suite of medical facilities. Darth Vader not only had his own detention center, he had his own operating room too. Seeing all the equipment makes Nestor a bit queasy about the day-to-day reality of living as Lord Vader. Clearly, the guy was horribly damaged and required specialized care. It is a wonder he lived, let alone functioned as Darth Sidious’ enforcer. Nestor thinks back to all the war stories he heard growing up that featured Lord Vader in combat. The guy must have had the constitution of a rancor to persevere through his painful disabilities. Nestor is even more impressed now that he understands the whole context. Vader had lost his health and lost his family, and yet the guy kept on doggedly going to work to rule the galaxy. But maybe, it occurs to Nestor, Vader’s job was what kept him going.

As Vanee keeps narrating the past, Nestor wonders if Vader’s experience is that atypical. Nestor is beginning to recognize in this castle some of the same grim Sith hallmarks he sees in Kylo Ren. The lonely isolation, the secret past, the separation from family, the grandiose melodrama, the ever-present danger, and the dark luxury. Judging by this castle, Dark Side princes live large, but they don’t live well. This whole place just screams ‘I have issues!’ in Nestor’s estimation. Big issues.

His eyes find Kylo’s long, melancholy face. Yes, it is very fitting that this castle comes to him. Nestor is about to ask Vanee about the Jedi collection he and Snoke have both mentioned, but Omar and Carlos reappear. They have clearly been hunting for them. “Here they are,” Carlos calls to his buddy, joking, “Targets located.”

Omar walks up briskly full of excited discovery. “Hey Kylo, there’s a souped up Imperial TIE in the garage and the thing is mint! Boss, you gotta see this! It’s an old school hot rod.” 

Vanee smiles and explains, “My old Master was very good with mechanics. He tinkered in his spare time. Although, over the years his focus became biomechanics mostly. He was constantly looking for ways to ease his suffering.” By way of example, Vanee gestures to a nearby wall of hanging prosthetics. It’s arms and legs hanging in neat pairs of lefts and rights.

Carlos looks over at the prosthetics and makes a repulsed face. “That guy must have been more machine than man . . .”

Vanee takes immediate umbrage at this comment. “Lord Vader was no machine,” he reproves. “There was a living, breathing man behind that mask. A man who suffered for his greatness.” 

The comment puts Carlos in his place. “Sorry,” he mutters, clearly intending no offense. But where the tragic Skywalkers are concerned, Nestor is learning, you must tread very carefully. Tempers run hot when it comes to this family.

“Lord Vader is much emulated, but never rivaled,” loyal Vanee says with a sniff. “Remember that when you next don your helmet, Knight.”

“Look here, old man,” Carlos bristles.

But Vanee cuts him off with withering disdain. “Never forget that the Empire you seek to recreate was assembled and largely administered by a quadruple amputee and severe burn victim. So, what’s your excuse, Knight?”

The comment is meant to put Carlos in his place. But glancing over at his boss, Nestor sees that Kylo is the one who takes it to heart. He watches as the wan faced kid visibly swallows. He’s in way over his head and he knows it. 


	7. chapter 7

Is it his turn? Yes, it's his turn. Nestor thinks a moment. The first one is easy. "Marry Cesi Ono.”

“Who?” Jonar blinks.

Kylo gleefully explains, “Senator Octavian Ono’s daughter.”

“Hey! Wasn’t he the Vice Chancellor of the Republic or something?” Static wonders.

“Nestor is apolitical when it comes to girls,” Kylo smirks.

Nestor shoots him a look. “Ono is an unofficial ally. So, she counts as Order.” For purposes of the game, at least.

“You’ll never even get a date with her,” Kylo heckles.

Nestor ignores him. He’s never had a short fuse. He mostly lets stuff roll off his back. But in particular Nestor has learned to ignore a lot of what Kylo says. The guy has a sarcastic comment for just about everything. Usually, that’s a sign he’s happy. When Kylo gets quiet, he’s upset or uncomfortable. So snarky is good where Kylo is concerned.

The Knights are docked at a rundown civilian supply depot deep in the Outer Rim. It’s basically a truck stop in space. But they’re not here for refueling and provisions. They’re here for a junk food run. Omar and Carlos went inside to shop while the rest of them waste time in the shuttle with a game of ‘marry, fuck, kill.’ They’ve done all the holonet celebrities. Now, they’ve moved onto the First Order allies and enemies version. 

Nestor keeps going with the game. “Fuck Phasma—“

“Phasma? Really?” Static disdains his choice. 

“—and kill . . . uh . . . uh . . .” he stumbles. 

Kylo heckles again with, "Nestor doesn't like to kill."

“Luke Skywalker,” Nestor finishes emphatically. “Kill Luke Skywalker.”

Jonar snorts. “Well, obviously. Nestor, you suck at this game. You go next, Kylo." 

Static answers for the boss. "That's easy. Marry navigation girl, fuck navigation girl, kill Hux."

"Her name is Tara. But good answer,” Kylo approves as he clinks beer bottles with Static. 

“What’s taking them so long?” Pedro frets as he looks out the window again. “It’s been over an hour. Maybe we should ping them on the com. Maybe something went wrong.”

Nestor too glances out the shuttle’s window. But he spies the missing pair. “Here they come.” 

Omar and Carlos march up to the ship, each carrying full bags.

“What did you score?” Static grabs a bag and starts rifling through it.

“We’ve got all the junk food groups,” Omar answers proudly. “The grease group.” He produces potato chips. “The sugar group.” He produces candy. “And the carb group.” He produces ramen noodle cups. “Oh, and we found the protein bars you wanted, Nestor.” Omar tosses one over. “To keep your girlish figure,” he teases.

“Dude, you’re getting ripped,” Static observes. It’s true. Nestor has been blowing off steam in the _Finalizer_ officers’ gym. Lifting seems to ease his stress. But now the shoulders and arms of his uniforms are getting tight as he bulks up.

“What’d you get to drink?” Jonar wants to know. “We’re down to water and soda.”

“Beer and more beer,” Carlos replies, brandishing a cold six-pack.

“Nice. Hand one over.”

“The docking cops asked if we were Order,” Omar says offhand as he complies. 

Kylo’s ears perk up. “Yeah? What did you say?”

“I said yes.” There really isn’t any other answer given the ultra-fast, sleek black command shuttle they are flying that is conspicuously armed with heavy shielding graded for war. The shuttle doesn't have any exterior markings, but it’s only slightly less obvious than docking a TIE fighter. 

“What did they say?”

“They waived our docking fees and wished us luck. Off the record, of course. And then,” Omar grins, “I showed them this.”

He flashes the inside of his right wrist to display a small red and black tattoo of the First Order insignia. It’s brand new, slightly swollen, and covered in ointment.

Carlos has a matching one he shows off too. “It’s why we took so long.”

“Whoa!” ever enthusiastic Static reacts, “You guys got inked? Cool!” He moves closer to inspect. Then he turns and impulsively suggests, “We should all do this.”

Everyone looks to Kylo.

“You wanna do it? Come on. Let’s do it,” Static cajoles.

The boss nods slowly as he decides, “Yeah, let’s all do it.” 

The Knights finish their beer, stash their new provisions, and troop as a group into the station to find the tattoo parlor. It’s none too clean and the prices are suspiciously cheap, but the ambiance is perfect for the occasion. The place is down market, rebellious, and unrepentant. Like the prevalent ethos of the Order itself, minus the haughty Colonel Hux Imperial exile types.

The middle-aged human proprietress looks them over as they walk in wearing matching Knight tunics and boots. “You boys Order too?” she drawls in a thick Rim accent.

“We might be. Is that a problem?” Kylo asks evenly.

“Not around here. Sit down and pick out your size and color.” The woman gestures to a book of samples. “We do custom work too, but it will cost you,” she warns.

“We already know what we want. We want the same as theirs,” Kylo replies, gesturing to Omar and Carlos. “We’re a unit.”

“Alright. Who’s first?” the woman smiles, no doubt mentally tallying the credits involved.

Nestor and Kylo go first among the remaining Knights. “Guess my undercover days are over,” Nestor observes softly as the tattoo artist works. “I can’t deny who I am now.”

“Damn right,” Kylo approves, “nor should you. My mother would hate this,” he adds happily.

Nestor can’t help but smile. “My Dad will love it.”

“That’s the difference between me and you right there,” Kylo remarks. He’s probably right, Nestor decides.

When Kylo’s tattoo is finished, he holds his arm up as he pronounces, “I like it.”

“Now in order to redeem you, Skywalker’s gonna have to cut your hand off,” Nestor tells him under his breath. 

That provokes a rare smile from Kylo. “Come and get it, Luke,” he says, flexing his grip into a fist.

Hovering Static has an opinion. He always has an opinion. “It needs ‘Vader Lives’ beneath the emblem.”

“Do you think so?”

“Yes.”

The others pile on.

“Good point.”

“I like it.”

“Go for it.”

“Do it, Kylo.”

The boss now looks to Nestor for his thoughts. And, well, why not? “Sure. You’re the new Vader. And he does live on in you,” Nestor vaguely references the Skywalker heritage. 

Kylo understands the point. And that’s what clinches it. He opts for the extra ink in dramatic gothic font. It’s very Kylo. “Now, my mother will really hate this,” he brags.

They tip exorbitantly and the happy shopkeeper can’t believe her good fortune. She wishes them good luck and tells them to have a blessed day in the stereotypical fashion that the Core makes fun of but the Rimmers truly mean. 

The episode begins the initiation tradition of the Knights of Ren. When the war finally heats up and the Ren begin to fall, each new face will get a trip to this same seedy space depot to get their wrist inked with the emblem of their cause. It marks them as brothers-in-arms in the warrior tradition of the Sith. But it begins with the impulsive esprit de corps of the original seven men who are bored on the way back from just the sort of lame mission that one day Kylo and Nestor will long for. 

But for now, next up is a twelve-hour flight back to the _Finalizer_ and a ton of junk food. 

By three months in, the Knights have hit all the public institutions known to have hoarded bits of Jedi history. It’s mostly museums, a few university libraries, and one courthouse on Chandrila. That just leaves a list of private personal collections owned by rich moguls and the relics in the hands of the Church of the Force wannabe Jedi types.

All in all, the work to date has been easy. Their hit-and-run raids are unopposed. One security guard on Corellia manages to pump off a few blaster shots at them, but that’s about it. The Ren simply show up and take whatever they want. Still, haul after haul yields nothing of consequence. The collection at Castle Vader keeps growing, but they are no closer to finding Luke Skywalker than before. 

They are, however, closer together as a unit personally and professionally. Because you do repeated eighteen hour long haul flights with six guys and you get to know them. Jonar’s always slumped with his headphones on and his eyes closed. It’s hard to tell if he’s asleep or listening to music. But every now and then, he will chime in with a comment that reveals he’s awake and listening. Pedro watches sports and pod racing for hours at a time with the sound off. As usual, Pedro doesn’t talk much. He just watches intensely, sometimes with Kylo watching intensely by his side. Static eats constantly. The guy walks around the ship with one hand dipping into a box of cereal or a bag of chips. You find him by following the trail of crumbs. Buddies Omar and Carlos are two frat boys. Loud, fun, and, more often than not, chilling with a beer in their hand. But there are days when their antics and stupid inside jokes make Nestor feel downright old.

And Kylo? Well, Kylo does what he always does. He hangs on the periphery observing. Distant. Removed. The guy is just so separate. Uncomfortable in his own skin. Is it the Force that keeps him aloof? Is it his innate shyness? Or maybe his inability to relate to normal guys? There are times when Nestor thinks Kylo is intimidated by his Knights’ easy rapport. Like he wants to belong, but he doesn’t know how.

His Force stuff takes some getting used to for Nestor. Kylo knows who enters a room without looking up. More than once, Nestor catches him sitting crosslegged on the floor in some girly yoga pose. He calls it meditation. And then, there are the times when Kylo says stuff like ‘don’t go bother Carlos. He’s jerking off in his bunk.’ And what the fuck? How the Hell does Kylo know that? And wait—does he know that about everyone?? Because that’s fucking creepy, Nestor decides. It makes him glad he doesn’t have the magic Force. No guy needs to know that much about another guy.

Now that the museum raids are done, the Knights’ next mission is to ransack the well defended compound of a crime syndicate kingpin. This particular spice lord and his predecessors at Crimson Dawn have collected all sorts of warrior paraphernalia--Mandalorian, Jedi, even Sith. It’s all installed in a picturesque villa on an out-of-the-way Rim world that the crime gang rules as their own. And that is all too typical of the Rim. Entire worlds are de facto owned and controlled by Core corporations, uber wealthy individuals, and violent crime gangs. 

This is the reality of the Rim. Where the empty promises and high taxes of the New Republic fuel deep cynicism and simmering resentment. Where a general sense of lawlessness has citizens poised to welcome the First Order’s message of law and order. People here will gladly trade their freedoms for security and opportunity. They will surrender their young children they cannot support to be trained as stormtroopers. Inflammatory Core journalists might allege that the Order kidnaps children to make them soldiers. But the truth is that the Order has impoverished parents begging it to accept their kids. Because stormtroopers are given food to eat, a place to sleep, clothes to wear, and schooling. And that is far more than many Rim children have at home. In truth, there is no shortage of Rim dwellers signing up to fight and die for Leader Snoke’s anti-Establishment, anti-Core populist reform movement. These exploited people have nothing to lose and everything to gain. And they are angry . . . very, very angry.

The cushy, complacent Core worlds will never see it coming, Nestor thinks. They are so blind to attitudes beyond their own experience that they cannot fathom how any reasonable person could support the Order. When the war finally comes and the barbarians are at their gate, the Core will be shocked at how broad and deep the Order’s support runs. Personally, Nestor looks forward to their rude awakening. The Core has it coming.

For once, the context of their mission seems to resonate with Kylo. In the planning sessions, he makes repeated disparaging remarks about the crime gang they are targeting. People romanticize these criminals, like they romanticize bounty hunters, drug smugglers, and guns-for-hire, Kylo complains. But there is no honor in their misdeeds. There is no accomplishment in their cartels. Spice isn’t a legitimate business. It’s an addictive, dangerous drug that ruins people’s lives and is rightfully banned. 

Nestor wholeheartedly agrees with his sentiments. The spice business in particular seems to typify the exploitation of the Rim. People toil in spice mines in terrible conditions. Entire systems like Kessel are organized around production of the drug, with innocents regularly caught in the crossfire of the intra-gang warfare that counts for competition in the spice industry. Then, there are the fleets of drug smuggling starships that transport the product to the marketplace. They bribe docking cops and local officials and add to the atmosphere of corruption that permeates local government. Ultimately, the drugs get peddled to the elites in the Core. For them, spice is a glamorous, harmless recreational drug. It’s a lifestyle choice that should be legalized, the customers argue, turning a blind eye to the trail of blood that preceded the narcotics into their hand. But from the misery of Kessel to the centuries old bloody Pike-versus-Hutt rivalry, to the white-collar corruption from money laundering the profits, and the persistent tragedy that is addiction, the social cost of spice is considerable. And, it’s paid mostly by those most vulnerable. All so a handful of privileged people can snort or smoke or inject a drug to temporarily relieve them of their petty problems. Nestor has no sympathy for their predicament.

“Let’s make sure we kill this kingpin guy,” he tells Kylo when the topic arises in planning. “I don’t care if it will only increase the market share for the others. It’s something.”

“Someday, we’ll kill them all,” Kylo promises grimly. It’s the first inkling that maybe Kylo will find something to fight for other than his own vendetta. 

The Knights will face a real defense for the first time in this upcoming raid. They take along several squads of stormtroopers to assist. But with the element of surprise, heavy weaponry, and overwhelming force, the raid is over fast. The First Order wins decisively. That gives Nestor an opportunity to witness Kylo’s Dark justice.

As Omar and Carlos supervise the stormtroopers bagging up the loot, Kylo orders the remaining defenders rounded up for execution. It turns out to be a mix of household servants and gang thugs. The servants are all slaves, they soon realize, with the distinctive slave collar explosive implants in their necks to mark their status. Kylo digests this news and decides to kill the thugs but spare the slaves. After all, they didn’t volunteer for this work and they certainly didn’t profit from it. Still, this Sith’s mercy has a price: Kylo gives the slaves an offer they cannot refuse: join the First Order and be freed, or die loyal to their gang master. Choose to live like a patriot insurgent or choose to die like a criminal. Every single man and woman, of all ages, takes Kylo up on his offer. He then proceeds to pile all twenty-four house servants onto the trooper transports for the trip back to the _Finalizer._

The move surprises everyone. And not in a good way. “Wait—so we are freeing slaves now?” Carlos confronts his boss. “This has nothing to do with Luke Skywalker.”

“We’re freeing slaves. You got a problem with that?” Kylo challenges softly.

Nestor gives Carlos a warning look. He sees the belligerence in Kylo’s eyes. This is not a fight Carlos should pick.

The Knight backs down, raising his hands in defeat. “Alright. Your call, boss.”

“Bring me the haul,” Kylo orders curtly. Then he closets himself in the shuttle’s main lounge area while the rest of the dubious Knights head for the crew quarters. 

It’s where Nestor finds Kylo an hour later. “Did we get anything good?” he asks casually. 

“There’s a Sith saber here,” Kylo answers. He’s turning the sword hilt over in his hands thoughtfully as he speaks.

“Yeah? Whose sword was that?”

“I don't know. Maybe Maul’s brother. But it’s mine now. I’m going to make a new saber with the crystal. It’s cracked, but it still works. Your dad is right. I need a red sword.”

“Yeah . . . sounds good.” Nestor wonders who Maul is. And who Maul’s brother is, for that matter. But he doesn’t ask. Because Nestor thinks he knows what has prompted Kylo’s sudden need for a new sword. “I heard those guys shouting ‘Jedi’ at you during the raid.”

Kylo scowls. “I’m no Jedi.”

“Well, now, you’ll have the sword to prove it,” Nestor reasons. He slants wary eyes at his boss and hazards more on the topic. “You know, it wasn’t just the sword that confused them. It was what you did. Freeing slaves is kinda Jedi, Kylo.”

“No, it’s not.” 

Kylo stands now and lights the sword from the unknown Sith. “Looks short for you,” Nestor observes offhand. 

“Yeah, it is.” Kylo turns it off. He tosses it aside and sits back down grumpily. That label ‘Jedi’ had clearly hit home. “The Jedi didn’t free slaves,” he grouses. “They talked a good game about freedom, equality, and justice. They claimed fight for the downtrodden and the oppressed. But in the end, they did what all institutions do: they reinforced the status quo to achieve their own aims and protect their position. The Jedi rarely stood up to the Senate. They weren’t the conscience of the Republic like they claimed to be. Mostly,” Kylo gripes, “their moral authority was rampant hypocrisy.”

This is vintage Kylo, Nestor has come to understand. The guy has strong, well informed opinions on history, but it’s all filtered through a very cynical lens. 

Kylo is aggressively defensive about the slaves. Nestor doesn’t even need to ask. Kylo goes right there. “Slavery has supposedly been abolished for decades now, but there are de facto slaves everywhere in the Rim. The New Republic knows it, too. Someone doesn’t have to own legal title to your body to make you a slave. You got an explosive chip in your neck? Then, you’re a slave. It doesn’t matter what the law says.”

Nestor nods his agreement to this wisdom. 

“So, yeah, I’m freeing slaves. Because I’m better than those bureaucrats in Hosnia who can’t do shit without six committee meetings and an oversight panel. And I’m not reading any spice lord his civil rights before I arrest him. He gets my sword, the same as all the rest of his criminal underlings. But his slaves go free. Because they are his victims. Because they are the New Republic’s victims.”

“Amen to that,” Nestor concurs. He starts absently looking over the haul of relics and a long silence falls. 

Kylo breaks it when he abruptly volunteers, “Vader was a slave.”

“Really?” Nestor puts down the artifact he is holding. Nestor is shocked by this reveal. Truly shocked. Because wasn’t Vader supposed to be Snoke’s son?

Kylo must see the question in his face because he starts explaining. “My grandfather was born to an enslaved mother in the Rim. Some passing Jedi recognized his talent and bought him at age ten. He took him to Coruscant to see the Jedi Council for special permission to be trained so late.”

Nestor squints at this news. “Snoke didn’t intervene?”

“No. He was still in exile.” 

“Oh.”

Kylo resumes the tale. “Vader went from being property of a junkshop owner to being property of the Jedi. The Jedi freed him but they never bothered to free his mother. I’m sure that was intentional. The Jedi wouldn’t have wanted them to have any contact. No attachments and all . . .” Kylo makes a face.

Now Nestor understands why Kylo did what he did today. Freeing those spice kingpin’s slaves wasn’t a political act, it was a personal decision. Because in the face of each of those men and women, he probably saw the face of his fearsome grandfather. And but for the whim of a passing Jedi, Kylo might be a slave himself.

“It’s kinda ironic, you know . . . My mother was raised a princess but her father and grandmother were slaves. I sometimes wonder if that is part of why she could never understand Vader’s ambitions. My mother was raised the elite of the Core and her father grew up the lowest caste of the Rim. The only thing Vader had going for him was the Force. Is it any wonder that the powerless slave boy grew up to be a Sith?” Kylo laments. He pins Nestor with his eyes and his long face is intense. “No one understands power—no one craves power—like the truly powerless.”

“That’s the appeal of the First Order in a nutshell,” Nestor realizes aloud as he stares back at his boss. “Harnessing the discontent in the Rim to overthrow the Republic.”

Kylo nods. “Snoke knows what he’s doing. This isn’t the first revolution he’s plotted. Nothing he does is accidental. Never forget that.”

When the shuttle arrives back at the ship, the Knights are greeted like returning heroes, as usual. The troopers from the mission file out first with the rest of the personnel and the Knights. Kylo appears last, of course. He removes his helmet and smirks openly at his nemesis Colonel Hux who has been commanded to await him in the hangar bay with the ceremonial assembly. 

“I bring you more recruits to fight the Republic,” Kylo announces glibly. 

Colonel Hux glances past him to the group of Crimson Dawn slaves. “Those aren’t prisoners?”

“No. They are the newest members of the First Order.”

Hux frowns as he spies the distinctive half-moon mark on the wrist of one man standing at the forefront of the group. Nestor watches as the Colonel strides past Kylo to grab the man’s arm for a better look. Then, he drops it with disdain. “You have brought us gang members? Really, Ren,” Hux huffs. 

Kylo ignores him and begins issuing orders. “Several are injured. Get them cleaned up and remove their slave collars. Find them something productive to do. They are free men and women now.”

The Colonel isn’t going for it. He challenges, “You were supposed to steal Jedi relics, not free slaves.“

Kylo shrugs. “The enemy of your enemy is your friend, or haven’t you heard?”

The Colonel bristles at this condescension. “We are not some social service organization to rehabilitate criminals or criminal’s slaves. How do we know that these people can even be trusted?”

“We don’t. But they have nowhere else to go and they could be useful. So make them loyal.” Kylo now shoots his chief hater a sardonic look. “Isn’t this the point of your crusade—helping the poor and restoring law and order? Who’s the hero today, Hux?” he goads. 

“What do we do with these people?” the man sputters out his dismay. 

“I don’t know. I don’t care. That’s your problem,” Kylo answers as he walks away from the fuming Colonel. This young Sith Lord’s magnanimity has clear limits, it seems. 

But this is how it starts, Nestor thinks silently. Very few people are politically minded because they like politics. Most people become political because of their personal experiences. Because they want to right wrongs, to redress injustice, and to make things the way they want them to be. Just like no one ever starts out thinking that they are extreme. They think they are justified. 

Watching the arrogant, cynical kid stalking away with ‘Vader Lives’ tattooed on his wrist beneath his glove, Nestor thinks that the First Order might be Kylo’s cause after all. He just doesn’t know it yet. Because this isn’t going to end with him killing the Jedi. Whatever the grudge match with Luke Skywalker is about, the legacy of Darth Vader is more important. Nestor thinks Snoke knew exactly what he was doing when he gave his Apprentice the ancestral castle. Kylo said it himself: everything his Master does is intentional. 


	8. chapter 8

“Whoa . . .” Kylo’s head whips around at the distracting sight of a scantily clad alien woman gyrating ecstatically in a cage. “What the—“ 

“Stay on target,” Carlos counsels as he steers him right past. “The human girls are in the back. That sort of thing is in the window for shock value to pique your interest. What you want to see is in the back.”

“I can’t decide if that’s gross or amazing,” Kylo mutters as he throws his head over his shoulder for another look.

“It’s gross,” Nestor weighs in definitively. “Just walk on by.”

This place isn’t even nice enough to charge cover, Nestor sees as they enter. Peering into the dimly lit club through the haze of smoke, he is glad that the lights are low. Nestor doesn’t think he wants to see this place in daylight. Or its other patrons.

How the Hell did they end up here? They do a mission stealing some shit from a rich dude who lives at the bright center of the universe and THIS is where they decide to spend their celebratory night on the town in Coruscant? The Underworld?? This place reeks of spice and urine mixed with pungent exhaust from a million transports filtering down from the cityscape levels overhead. Every so often, some garbage floats down, too. It’s nasty. The night is young, but Nestor is starting to regret not staying behind with the ship. Still, he’s a team player, so he dutifully tags along.

The others head for the main stage to see the girls. But Nestor finds a booth, opens a tab, and attempts to have a good time away from the action. Kylo is at his side, of course. In these situations, he’s always the little brother sidekick. Kylo’s playing it cool hanging at the table, but his eyes are as big as saucers. It’s hard not to notice. Nestor knows Kylo would be over there doing shots and stuffing credits into some dancer’s g-string with the rest of the Knights if he had the nerve. But he doesn’t. So he just watches. Kylo always watches. 

It’s fascinating how Kylo glories in violence—many times now, Nestor has watched the kid kill without flinching—but he remains terribly shy around regular people. Especially girls. The celibate Jedi must have had him too long. Because while Kylo is very into girls, they thoroughly intimidate him. And that’s kind of endearing, actually. 

Confidence is very situational, Nestor knows firsthand. You can be a guy who knows how to handle yourself in one setting and yet find yourself uneasy in another venue in other company. But Kylo takes that concept to a whole new level. The brash, strutting Knight who exchanges barbs on the bridge with Hux looks very uncomfortable now. When you get this kid out of the context of the chain of command he’s atop, he can’t begin to relate to others. As far as Nestor can tell, Kylo divides the people in his life into allies and enemies. If he’s unsure of where you fall, you get the enemy attitude by default. It’s some weird defense mechanism, probably. But whatever. The point is that when you put his youth, his inexperience, and his social awkwardness together, it produces the introverted, intense, and sarcastic asshole that is Kylo Ren.

But he’s trying hard to hide it tonight. Kylo takes a swig of beer and brags, “This isn't the first strip joint I've been in. In fact, it might be nicer than the last one I remember.”

Nestor doubts that, but he plays along. “Yeah? Well, I hate these places.“

“You do?” Kylo yelps. He might be relieved. Nestor isn’t sure.

“I grew up with a guy whose mother was a dancer. It's a hard way to make a living. He was terribly ashamed of it. But it was an open secret and the other kids could be ugly about it. So, yeah," Nestor muses as he takes a long pull on his beer, "I never found these places sexy. They always make me think of Phil and his mom."

Kylo gives him a knowing look. “I guess you're the type for an uptown girl? Like some Senator's daughter?”

“It's more fundamental than that,” Nestor explains. “I’m the type for a girl I don't have to pay to be with and to look at. Sleaze ain't my thing.”

“So you want the girl next door?” Kylo sizes him up thoughtfully, “Yeah, that’s about right. I bet you like the wholesome types.”

Nestor doesn’t deny it. He just shrugs. “I like nice girls. They’re . . . nice.”

“That’s very Mid Rim of you.”

Affable Nestor just nods, “Yep.”

They listen to the thumping music a bit and continue to watch the girls from afar. Then Kylo reveals, “I got arrested down here in the Underworld once.”

Nestor blinks. “No shit?”

Kylo grins proudly at this reaction. “No shit.”

“Well, go on. Tell the tale.” It will pass the time at least, Nestor thinks.

“It wasn't long after I fled to Snoke.“ 

Nestor notes the verb but says nothing.

“I was out of the Jedi influence for the first time ever and I guess I was curious.” Kylo looks a little sheepish now.

“Yeah, I get it,” Nestor nods. “You wanted to see the girls.” That’s why every guy comes to a place like this. To see what for whatever reason they can’t see at home. Places like this are escapist fantasy.

“Yeah, I came for the girls. I mean in the flesh isn't like on the holonet.” Kylo is downright blushing now from his own reference to porn. “None of the girls at Luke’s Temple looked like this,” he mutters. 

And, geez, he doesn’t have to explain, Nestor thinks. But if that’s what got him kicked out of Jedi camp and is sparking yet another Skywalker civil war, then Nestor might just laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Could Ben Solo have stayed Jedi if they let him have a girlfriend? And oh, the awful irony of the poor guy ending up with Snoke who transfers the first girl he flirts with off the ship.

Curiosity gets the better of Nestor now. “So, how'd you get arrested?”

“I picked up this whore and she wanted to do death stix—“

“Death stix?” This from the guy who executes spice lords with gleeful righteousness?? 

“Yeah. So I bought them and we got busted in a sting. The dealer was a cop.”

Nestor is all ears now. “Did you whip out your sword?“

“No, I used a Jedi mind trick on the cops. It got me out of the drug charge. But by then, I was rusty on my Jedi skills and I couldn’t convince them to let me out of the prostitution rap too.”

“I’ll bet Snoke was pissed,” Nestor judges.

“He was more pissed about the Jedi mind trick than he was anything else. Well, and the ship,” Kylo adds as an afterthought.

“Ship?”

“I ran away to Coruscant on his personal cruiser. It got impounded by the docking cops. He hadn’t paid his taxes in decades.”

“Snoke doesn’t pay taxes?” Nestor squints.

“He doesn’t recognize the taxing authority of the Republic.”

“Right. I guess that makes sense.” Snoke’s trying to overthrow the Republic after all. “And then what happened?” Nestor groans and guesses, “Lightning?”

Kylo nods. “Lots of lightning. There’s more discipline on the Dark Side. You mostly get lectures from the Jedi.” He complains, “All that pain, and I never got to fuck the girl . . . ”

That’s when Nestor sets him straight. “Boss, you don't want anything to do with an Underworld whore. That cop did you a favor. You gotta look higher than a place like this.”

Kylo smirks. “Senator's daughters?”

“Maybe. So, what's up with Snoke and girls? What's his real issue with Tara?“ Nestor wants to know. Navigation girl seemed completely unobjectionable to Nestor. “Do Sith not have wives and girlfriends? Is it against the rules or something?”

Kylo smirks, “The Dark Side has lots of sex. Snoke has lots of women.”

“Really?” Nestor squints in surprise. “Because I was wondering if he wasn't into women and maybe that was why he was a dick about Tara.”

Kylo leans forward to confide, “Snoke likes Twi’lek girls. Milo procures them for him.”

“Wait—what? Twi’leks? For real? That’s so . . . so . . . cliché. And here I thought Snoke was into guys,” Nestor chuckles.

Kylo gives him a stern look. “Never let him catch you thinking that.”

“He looks at me as if he knows what I'm thinking.”

Kylo gives him another stern look. “Snoke does know what you're thinking.”

“Well, fuck,” Nestor gulps. “I'll remember that. So . . . that sparkly dress, the fancy throne room, the man jewelry . . . I guess it threw me off.” Because when the first word that comes to mind to describe a guy is ‘flamboyant,’ he’s usually not into girls. And that’s fine by Nestor. You do you, Supreme Leader. Except apparently Snoke does Twi’lek hotties instead.

And now, another horrifying thought occurs to Nestor. “Wait—do you know what I’m thinking, too?” he demands of Kylo.

The kid snorts. “You don’t expect me to answer that, do you?”

“Yes, I do.” Nestor fires back. 

Kylo leans forward across the table to sneer. “Then how’s this--right now, you’re thinking I know all the shit you think about me but don’t say.”

“Yes, that’s the issue,” Nestor confirms.

“See?” Kylo crows gleefully, “I do know what you’re thinking.”

“Fuck you, Kylo,” Nestor grumps. “This night just got worse.”

Kylo comes clean. “At ease, Nestor. Look, I can sense moods and emotions mainly. And I can sense specific thoughts when they are intense. But I would have to get in your mind to read your every thought. So you’re safe with me. Not with Snoke, though. He’s good.”

“Great. Just great,” Nestor sighs. “So what is his issue with Tara?” Kylo still hasn’t given him an answer.

The Apprentice just shrugs. “Snoke says that the Force will send me a girl.”

“The Force will whaaat?” Is that how the Force works? Nestor had no idea.

“Yeah, it’s probably bullshit. It’s just his way of controlling me,” Kylo decides. “But you never know . . .”

“So if I pray to the Force for a hot girlfriend, will the Force come through?” Nestor can’t believe he’s saying those words out loud. But if it works . . .

Kylo shoots him a pitying glance. “No. Not for you.”

Nestor deflates. “I didn’t think so.”

“You have to be a favorite of the Force for it to shape your destiny.”

“What the Hell does that mean?”

“It means your life is yours to live, Flick.” Kylo suddenly looks very somber. “As a Skywalker, I have far fewer choices than it looks.”

Nestor doesn’t know what to make of this bitter self-aggrandizement. So he does what he always does when Kylo talks about the Force—Nestor simply listens and moves on. “If the Force is going to play matchmaker, does that mean the Leader is going to be pissed that you’re here?”

“Not if he doesn’t know.”

“Wrong answer, Kylo, wrong answer. Look, go get a lap dance and let’s get out of here.” This place sure isn’t worth getting fried with Force lightning over, Nestor judges. Because if navigation girl isn't good enough, then these dancers definitely flunk the Snoke test. And since it's his job to babysit Kylo, Nestor fears he might be held responsible for the antics of the horndog Apprentice. 

Kylo gives the current girl up on stage a long look and decides, “I’ll pass.”

“Good call.” Nestor cocks his head to the other side of the room. “Look at that girl Jonar's tipping now. She’s probably telling him how hot he is. How sexy. Shit like that. She's not into him. She's probably not into any of the guys she meets here.”

Kylo misses the point. “You think she's into girls? Because that might be cool.”

“You're not getting this. Kylo, it's all lies. She tells those lines to every guy. It's generic stripper come on talk.”

Kylo is nonplussed. “I'm used to lies. Everyone lies to me. At least, this would be a hot girl lying to me.”

Damn, the kid looks morose now. Some celebration this is. Nestor prompts, “So . . . yes or no to the lap dance?”

“I’ll pass.”

“Then, come on. I'm closing out our tab. Let's get outta here. We can meet up with the others later.”

“Where are we going?”

“The Upper Levels. Kylo, if the Force is going to send you a girl, she’s going to be someone important. A real princess. You’re technically royalty, right?”

“Alderaan’s gone.”

“Yeah, but you’re still a prince. And a Sith. And a Skywalker. That requires a really special girl. Not just pretty but beautiful. And smart. Polished and educated. A girl with class. Boss, these strippers might be nice but they’re not that.”

Kylo concedes to this wisdom and they head for the door. 

Omar is not far behind. “Hey--are you guys ditching us?” he bellows above the music. He’s very drunk and evidently belligerent. 

Nestor is not looking for an argument. He answers, “No--”

Just as Kylo immediately says, “Yes.”

“Party foul, bro,” stumbling Carlos accuses as he too makes an appearance. “Shouldn’t leave men behind,” he slurs his objection. “It’s bad for morale.”

“We’re going up levels,” Nestor explains. “Come, if you want. Otherwise, we’ll meet you back at the ship. Right, Kylo? Kylo?” 

Wait--where is Kylo? He’s suddenly disappeared. “Where did he go?” Nestor demands of the others. But they have no clue.

Carlos snorts. “Looks like he’s ditched you too.”

“Awww, fuck,” Nestor curses. “We’ve gotta find him.” Who knows what the consequences are for the Apprentice getting arrested again in the Coruscant Underworld? And now, Nestor is responsible as his official babysitter. Shit. This evening keeps getting worse. 

Kylo’s not in the club. Did he wander someplace else? As the Knights stand in the street outside the strip joint arguing over what to do next, a police speeder pulls up alongside them with its lights on.

“Well, fuck,” Nestor swears again under his breath. What is this about? They’re not doing anything wrong. Well, maybe some public intoxication, but this is the Underworld. That sort of thing is practically expected down here. If you’re not drunk, high, or at least a little disorderly, then what is the point of this place?

The police cruiser slows to a halt. It’s blinding spotlight shines on their group. Then the loud speaker squawks. “Hands up where I can see them. Get in the speeder. All of you.”

And wait—Nestor knows that voice. 

“Kylo? Kylo??”

“If they arrest us, I say we riot.” It’s Jonar, who’s too drunk to recognize his boss.

Carlos agrees. “We can take them. On my mark, men—“

“Get in the fucking speeder!” the voice commands impatiently over the speaker. Then, the driver’s side window rolls down and Kylo sticks his head out. “You guys coming?”

The Knights all look at one another. 

“I’ll get Pedro and Static,” Omar decides. Then, they all pile in. 

“Boss, what’s with the speeder?” Carlos slurs. Then he elbows Nestor in the ribs. It’s a tight fit with this many grown men in the back.

“I’m borrowing it,” Kylo answers.

“You stole it??”

The boss smirks. “We’re the Knights of Ren. We can take whatever we want, remember?” He’s completely serious, too. 

Honestly, Kylo Ren is a queasy mix of shamelessness meets entitlement. He has a brash attitude of ‘I want what I want, and I get what I want’ that propels him through life. The guy has no boundaries except those Snoke sets for him. And those seem sort of random to Nestor. So, who knows what will happen when Kylo finally loses his inhibitions around girls. Because that’s when things could really get ugly, Nestor worries.

The Apprentice has an amoral mindset that is weirdly one step from criminality. Nestor could see a guy with Kylo’s attitude becoming a spice kingpin as easily as he could see him becoming head of the First Order. But maybe that’s fitting because Kylo started out a Jedi and now he’s a Sith. He’s capable of anything. Maybe of everything. He seems to veer from one extreme to another. Frankly, Nestor isn’t sure what to make of it. Most guys fit a type in some way. But not this guy. Maybe it’s his wildcard Force, but Nestor still can’t figure Kylo out.

But right now, Nestor has one issue on his mind. “Where are the cops who belong in this speeder?” he wants to know. 

“Asleep in the Force.”

“You killed them??” Nestor stammers.

Kylo looks annoyed. “No. They are literally asleep in the Force down that alleyway. I’m a Jedi killer. Not a cop killer.” The Apprentice shoots him a look. “Easy, Nestor. You’re killing my buzz.” Then he guns the engines and the speeder takes off at top speed.

“Yeee-haw!” Static yells as Kylo puts the craft into a vertical climb at top speed. “Hey, turn the sirens on. I’ve always wanted to do this! I love this!”

“You’re such a kid,” Jonar snorts.

“Yep,” Static replies happily. “Faster, Kylo, faster!”

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” drunk Omar groans. 

Kylo takes them to the Upper Level where the beautiful people of Coruscant party. It’s a Friday night and the wide pedestrian esplanades are overflowing with throngs of young people moving from one hotspot to the next. The Knights cruise up and down in their stolen police speeder until Kylo selects a place. 

“It says ‘closed for a private party,’” Nestor points out as they watch the two beefy bouncers at the door turn people away. 

“Then, it’s exclusive,” Kylo reasons. “Come on.” Then, Kylo does the thing with the Force when he waves his hand and talks spookily. Suddenly the doorman finds them on the list and the velvet rope opens. They’re in. 

They have crashed some minor celebrity’s birthday bash. Luckily there are at least two hundred people here, so they can skulk unnoticed drinking the drinks, eating the food, and ogling the good-looking women who pass by in groups of twos and threes.

“Better?” Kylo looks to Nestor.

“Better,” Nestor approves as he watches yet another gorgeous girl walk by as she squeals and waves to a friend across the room. Uptown girls wear more clothes and their heels are a bit less high than their Underground sisters. Their hair is more natural, and their makeup as well. They’re all young, hot, and sleek. They know it, too. The air of confidence about these women just might be their strongest lure. 

The Knights don’t know anyone at this party. But that’s fine. Nestor is content just to look. So is Kylo. He does his usual thing hanging at Nestor’s shoulder nursing a drink and spouting criticism now and then. The rest of the guys have gone to dance. But Nestor’s not a dancer and something tells him that Kylo Ren won’t ever be caught on a dance floor. The guy is way too uptight for dancing, no matter how drunk he gets.

Even now, he’s brooding. Watching other people have fun inveterately makes Kylo brood. And when he broods, Nestor has learned, Kylo tends to unburden himself. Tonight is no exception. Right here in the corner of some swank Coruscant hotspot at a birthday bash for someone they don’t even know, Kylo erupts in truth. He’s primed by alcohol and made sullen by the setting. So naturally, melancholy Kylo starts revealing what brought him to this moment.

“I left Luke after he tried to kill me in my sleep.”

Wait—what? Did he hear that right? Nestor’s eyes dart over to Kylo. “You mean kill as in murder?”

“He probably didn’t see it that way,” the boss gripes, “but I did.”

“Yeah? What happened?” There’s a story here, for sure, Nestor thinks.

“There’s really not much to tell.” And that fact looks to be especially frustrating to Kylo. “I was asleep with the others in the guy’s dorm. I woke up at the sound of his saber lighting. Maybe a little sooner—it’s hard tell. But I barely had enough time to react as he swung at me for the kill.” Kylo looks angry and sad as he pauses to sip at his drink. Then he chugs some like it’s liquid courage to tell his tale of leaving Jedi life. “Luke didn't even aim for the head,” he snarls. “That fucker tried to hack me like he was chopping wood.”

Is Nestor hearing this right? “Luke Skywalker tried to kill you?” Because that doesn’t sound correct. Luke Skywalker is the man who famously refused to fight his father Darth Vader. But suddenly, he’s cool with executing this nephew? That seems very out of character for a Jedi.

“I had my sword by my bed. It leapt into my hand without even thinking. Maybe that was the Force trying to protect me, I don’t know . . . It’s hard to kill a Skywalker.“

“But you stopped him—“

“I parried him in the nick of time and then I fought back. It all happened so fast. I was acting on instinct to survive.“

“Nothing wrong with that,” Nestor reasons. “So, I take it you dueled?”

“No. There wasn’t even a fight.” Kylo explains, “I summoned a power I didn’t know I had. It was a Force shockwave. A classic Dark Side move. I threw up a hand in his direction and somehow I destroyed the entire Temple in one move. It was like that bomb that destroyed the museum on Hosnia. The whole place lay in ruins. I was the only one standing . . . or so I thought.”

He looks to Nestor as if pleading for him to understand. “It was an accident. I didn’t mean to kill them. They were my friends. . . Well, some of them . . .” 

For once, Kylo looks guilty. Maybe he’s not as indifferent to life as Nestor has judged him to be. Because he looks truly contrite at the fate of the bystander Jedi students who died in their sleep in a midnight fight between two Skywalkers.

“What happened to your uncle?” Nestor wants to know more.

“I thought Luke was dead under the rubble. That I had killed him along with most of the rest.” Again, Kylo’s eyes find Nestor’s His words are righteous but his face pleads for forgiveness. Suddenly, he looks especially young. “It was self-defense. I was attacked.”

There has to be more to this story. “Did you provoke him?”

“I was fucking sleeping! It was an execution!” Kylo says this too loudly. Now, they are drawing curious looks from others who overhear above the music and the party buzz. 

“Keep it down, boss,” Nestor mutters as he corrals Kylo father into the corner. 

Kylo lets himself be led, but he loses none of his intensity. Clearly, he feels very betrayed. “Tell me--who the Hell does that? You fight an enemy in a duel, Nestor. You don’t creep up to execute them unaware. Well, maybe a Sith would, but not a Jedi. They’re supposed to be better than that.”

Yeah, this still doesn’t make sense. “Why? Why did he do it?”

“How should I know? Apparently, Luke sent some message to my mother claiming that he went to confront me about Snoke and I turned on him. That I went ballistic and destroyed everything and killed everyone. Because Snoke had turned my heart Sith . . . because I was Dark . . . ”

Kylo’s face is bitter, so bitter now. Contempt drips from his words. “Luke lectured all the time about Darkness. Nagging that the Force is for defense, never for attack. But he was full of lust to kill that night. He was the guy who lit his sword and attacked, not me! There wasn’t any talking! It wasn’t some Jedi intervention! That night, Luke was every bit the Sith he was worried I would become.”

“And you did become that,” Nestor points out.

“Thanks to Luke,” Kylo snaps. “That hypocrite is the current Chosen One, but he refuses to admit it. And now, I’ve got to kill him to finish my training so I can inherit the responsibility I never wanted in the first place.”

Huh? “Kylo, what does that even mean?” Nestor knows so little of the lore of the Jedi and the Sith. 

“It means Luke is descended from the Force itself. We all are—that’s the meaning of the Skywalkers. It’s why my Master created my grandfather in the first place. Because to control the Chosen One is to control it all—Dark and Light. Making a child of the Force was the ultimate power grab and Snoke’s way to replace Sidious as his then Apprentice.”

Er . . . right, Nestor thinks, only half following.

“Like the Force, Luke is equal parts Light and Dark. He has immense power, but it is conflicted.” Kylo lifts scared eyes to Nestor’s and half-whispers, “The Chosen One is capable of balancing the Force.” He says this like it’s a state secret. Like he has just divulged the mystery of the universe. But Nestor is underwhelmed. He has no idea what balancing the Force means. But it’s clearly something heavy. 

“Oookay. So, how did you get to Snoke?” Snoke is at least the excuse Luke gave his sister for his behavior, so what’s Snoke’s role in all of this?

“Luke always knew Snoke was out there. Sure, he publicly claimed to have destroyed the Sith. He even claimed that he had balanced the Force to us students . . . that the Light had won along with the Rebellion and everything would be good now . . . the new Jedi would rise, the Republic would prosper, and it would be happily ever after. I think Luke even believed that himself for a while . . . until he knew better . . .”

“He and Snoke did balance in a way,” Kylo supposes. “Luke rose and then Snoke emerged from the shadows. It’s the classic pattern from all the Jedi-Sith conflict. One side rises and the other rises to meet it. That never-ending conflict has always been a sort of counterbalancing status quo. Except this time is different. This time it ends,” Kylo vows. His voice is equal parts menace and hope. It’s very weird. But he continues: “Snoke long ago gave up on Luke ever understanding the Force beyond the traditional Jedi approach. With Vader and Sidious dead, Snoke was just biding his time before he surfaced.”

“Why? What was he waiting for?” Nestor asks.

“For me to grow up.” 

“So, you knew him?”

“I knew of him from Luke. My uncle liked to take me aside for private lectures on the evils of the Sith. I didn’t know why back then. I didn’t yet know that Vader was part of the family. I thought I was being singled out because I was the only Skywalker student and I was such a lousy Jedi.”

Nestor half chokes on his drink. Of all the unexpected revelations from Kylo tonight, this one might just be the most surprising. “Wait--so you were bad at being a Jedi? Seriously?”

“I was terrible . . . just terrible.” Kylo sounds sort of proud actually. “I was the worst of the group. It frustrated Luke. It embarrassed my mother. They both complained that I wasn’t trying. And that was sort of true. I wanted to be a normal kid with a normal life. To be in regular school, not a Jedi Temple. This was their dream, you know? Not mine. But like it or not, I was supposed to live out their goal of reviving the Jedi Order to make amends for the sins of my secret grandfather. Except I didn’t want it. I grew to hate it over time. I kept running away. And that’s how I met Snoke.”

Nestor sees the pattern here. “You ran away from Luke like you ran away from Snoke to Coruscant?”

“Yeah. I wasn’t certain what I wanted when I was with Luke. And even when I got to Snoke, I still didn’t know.”

Geez, this kid is a pawn, Nestor realizes. Caught between the conflicting factions of his ridiculously overpowered, super deadly clan. “Let me guess--Snoke lured you?”

“Oh, no. He sent me back.”

“He did?”

“I had stolen Luke’s old X-wing and run away again when Milo approached me the first time. He took me to Snoke.”

“And??” Nestor is dying to hear about that family reunion. 

“He told me that he is Darth Plagueis the Wise, Master to Darth Sidious. He said that the Sith are alive and well. But he wanted me to learn all I could from Luke. Because while the Jedi are wrong about a great many things, there is some wisdom to be learned from the Light. He said I would need that knowledge in the long run.”

“So Snoke actually sent you back to Skywalker??” Back to his enemy grandson, or whatever the relationship is. Nestor finds the Snoke family tree perplexing.

Kylo nods. “He sent me back a few times, actually. But Snoke gave me a way to contact him. Just in case, he said.” Kylo sighs as he recalls, “After the news broke about my grandfather, I tracked him down. I wanted to know more about the Dark Side so I could understand who Darth Vader really was. I even asked Snoke to teach me the ways of the Force so I could become a Sith like my grandfather. I didn’t really mean it . . . I just wanted to choose a different path from the Jedi life I was failing at . . .”

“And?”

“He turned me down. He sent me home again.”

“Why?”

“He said I wasn’t ready. That the time wasn’t right. He refused take me on as the Apprentice until I impressed him.”

Nestor knows where this is heading. He sees how Snoke was paying hard to get. “Let me guess, destroying Luke’s Temple got you the job?”

“Yes. There was no going home after that. Luke would have killed me and Snoke would lose his last shot at balancing the Force with the Skywalkers.” Kylo works his jaw a bit and then tosses back the rest of his drink. He looks very glum. “Like it or not, I was the Apprentice then. There was no other option but live life on the run from my uncle or flee to Snoke.”

“Fuck. Kylo, that sucks.” Nestor truly does feel sorry for his predicament. It seems like this kid just wanted to be normal, but no one would let him. No wonder he’s such a freak and so standoffish. The people he was closest to betrayed him. “That really sucks.”

“Yeah. It does. I need another drink.”

“Me too. Let’s get drunk.”

“Good idea.”

They head for the bar in the center of the club. And that’s when the evening really gets interesting. Because there’s a tall leggy blonde standing in a group with her back towards them. She looks familiar. Could it be? Yes. Nestor would recognize that throaty laugh anywhere. Come to think of it, he thinks he recognizes that pert ass too.

“Boss—she’s here,” Nestor gulps.

“Who’s here?”

“Cessily Ono. The Senator’s daughter. Over there. Two o’clock next to the dark-skinned dude and the girl in the red dress.”

Kylo just nods. “Whatever.” He’s lost in his own troubles. So Nestor orders them both a drink and stakes out a position near the bar where he can watch his dream girl and wait for a good opening to approach her. “This time I’m going to talk to her,” he vows under his breath. In the meantime, he stands there looking his fill as he works up his nerve to wander over. This time he’ll do it alone. Morose Kylo is a crappy wingman. And who knows what the guy will say in his current mood?

But he’s in luck, because this time she approaches him. Cessily Ono heads for the bar with a girlfriend to get more drinks. The destination brings her right past Nestor.

She looks up and pauses. “Do I know you? I think I know you. I never forget a face. Cessily Ono,” she volunteers with a bright smile and an outstretched hand.

Nestor’s heart is pounding but he plays it cool. He smiles back and nods as he too holds out his hand. “Nestor Flick. My old boss used to meet with the Senator sometimes at your house.” And did that sound too eager? He hopes not. 

“Yes! Omigosh, yes!” she shrieks. She’s a little drunk. “You’re the guy in the hall with the briefcase! You’re GI Joe!” she exclaims as she places him.

“Yeah . . . Yeah, I’m that guy.” Nestor says sheepishly. And so much for playing it cool. He can feel his cheeks redden. Kylo is no doubt smirking hard, but Nestor doesn’t look. He can’t take his eyes off his girl. This is the closest she’s ever been to him. And, damn, she is beautiful. All peaches and cream skin, bright blue eyes, and lush blonde hair. Nestor knows he is staring, but he can’t help himself. She is captivating up close.

His social butterfly must sense that she has misspoke. She flashes an apologetic smile as she tosses all that hair over one shoulder. “I meant it in the best way. You look a little military. It’s not the usual thing.”

He’ll take that as a compliment. Nestor nods slowly. “Glad you noticed.” Kylo must really be smirking now. “Can I get you girls a drink?” Nestor offers. 

They accept and he gives the order to the bartender as Cesi fills in her girlfriend, “Nestor is a lobbyist. What was your firm again?” she asks. Because in the world of young Coruscant strivers, your glamorous resume and your pedigree are what count most.

Nestor says the name of the company that is a front for the First Order‘s covert lobbying and public relations operations in the Core. Cesi’s girlfriend looks dutifully impressed. Then she asks, “So how do you know Max?”

“Max?” Nestor echoes blankly.

“Max Torres. Our host. The birthday boy.”

“Uhhh . . . “

Kylo interjects gleefully, “Never met him. We crashed.”

“You crashed??” Cesi shrieks a little too loud. Yeah, she’s a little drunk. But she seems more impressed than offended. She’s giggling now.

“Yeah.” Red faced Nestor admits, “We crashed.” 

Cesi grins. “You two must be good. There’s a lot of security here tonight.”

“Oh, we’re good,” Kylo assures her. “We’re really good. You should see the places we’ve snuck into.” Then Kylo elbows Nestor hard. 

Nestor takes the cue. “Oh, girls, this is--“

“Kylo Ren,” the man speaks for himself.

“Are you a lobbyist too?” Cesi’s gal pal asks Kylo after the introductions are made.

“I guess you could say that. We’re working to make the galaxy great again,” Kylo replies with an admirable straight face.

“Oh, is that what you lobbyists do?” Cesi teases, raising a wry eyebrow. “And here I thought it was all in furtherance of corporations and special interest groups.” She’s smirking now too, but her cynicism is a lot cuter than Kylo’s.

Just then, the bartender presents the drinks. Nestor hands them around. Cesi accepts hers with another dazzling smile. But it quickly fades. Nestor follows her eyes to see that his gesture has raised his sleeve to reveal his First Order tattoo. She looks at the symbol soberly a moment, then glances to her friend. But Cesi’s gal pal is oblivious. If she noticed the mark, it didn’t register. 

“You’re not really a lobbyist, are you?” Cesi asks Nestor under her breath as her friend chats aimlessly with awkward, suddenly tongue-tied Kylo.

Nestor answers truthfully. “No.”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks for the honesty. And thanks for the drink. Nice talking to you,” Cesi ends the conversation immediately.

He has scared her away. This is awful. Nestor tries to salvage things. “Hey—don’t go. Stay and talk to us some more,” he urges. Feeling a bit panicked, Nestor is bold. He lays a light hand on her arm now, hoping to stall her. “We’re harmless,” he promises.

“No, you’re not,” Cesi judges astutely. “My brother is mixed up with you guys. But I know better.” She looks pointedly at Nestor’s offensive hand on her arm with freezing eyes. 

Nestor immediately removes it. “Sorry.”

Cesi collects her gal pal. They are already edging away. “See you around Ned,” her friend tells him. 

“Nestor. Nestor Flick,” he practically yelps back. 

“Right. You too, Kyle,” the gal pal smiles perfunctorily. She’s already mentally moved on as she scans the room for where to go next.

“Kylo Ren,” Kylo growls at the retreating women. “Remember that name,” he calls after them. Almost like a taunt. Because, of course, the Apprentice doesn’t take rejection well.

“Shut up, Kylo,” Nestor hisses. “You’re scaring them more.”

He shrugs. “Scary is a good thing in a Sith.”

“Not if you’re a Sith who wants to get a girl.” 

“They were ugly bitches anyway,” Kylo maintains. “We can do better,” he sniffs.

“Maybe, maybe not. But not all of us have a backup plan of getting sent a girl from the Force,” Nestor gripes.

“What did you say to piss her off?”

“She saw my tattoo. That’s all it took.”


	9. chapter 9

AUTHOR'S NOTE

I am pressing pause on this story. Not delete. Not stop. Just pause.

It’s mostly because the SW canon is about to run right over it, I fear. And since I like the SW canon (warts and all), it seems silly to create something that will intentionally deviate from it. Already as the sequel trilogy has unfolded, some of my initial Reylo stories—not just plots, but characterizations as well—have become non-compliant. So as much as I want to write the Knights telling Kylo stuff like “That’s insane, bro!” and finally getting our anti-hero to first base with a girl, it’s time to put the pencil down. 

But me being me, I’m offering an alternative. Look for a new story to be posted later today. And, yeah, it might be a bit canon twisting. But I prefer to think of it as hidden canon. It’s more existential dread for a Skywalker, naturally. As interesting as I find Kylo Ren, grandpa Vader is the ultimate Dark bae. I think there is this tendency to assume that Vader remained a fairly static character between the end of Episode 3 up until he confronts Luke in Episode 5. He’s the bitter, mangled widower Sith brooding in his lava castle, right? Well, yes. But the story of how we get from there to his sacrifice in the throne room matters. I’m going to attempt to tell it blueenvelopes style. 


	10. chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found this chapter draft on my computer this weekend. I forgot I had even written it. I thought I might as well clean it up and post it. The idea here is that 1) Nestor’s path will cross with a young lawyer and First Order sympathizer who happens to be Cesi’s brother and that will be an important ongoing connection and 2) Kylo is still growing into his role as Apprentice but he's now appearing publicly as Kylo Ren of the First Order.

No matter how many times he appears in Snoke’s throne room at the bunker, he will never get used to it. 

Nestor and the rest of the Knights are in their formal dress uniforms, kneeling in a line while Kylo kneels at their forefront. Snoke needles Kylo while the rest of them look on in silence. The Apprentice is the focus of the monthly report, like always. Snoke only addresses Kylo, and in this setting you only speak when spoken to. But that’s fine. It’s good to be a bystander who goes unnoticed. It helps you avoid the Force lightning Snoke doles out liberally to Kylo.

Except now Snoke unexpectedly addresses him. “Sir Nestor Flick, you have a pressing matter for your attention that takes precedence over this meeting?”

He gulps. “No, Sir.”

“Then why is that comlink buzzing in your pocket?”

It’s set to vibrate, but somehow Snoke is aware of it. Nestor feels his cheeks redden. “My apologies for the interruption, Sir.”

“Are you going to answer it?”

Hell no. Not in the throne room. Nestor flushes harder now as he croaks out, “It can wait, Sir.”

“By all means, answer it.” Snoke waves a spindly hand and sounds bored. “Don’t mind us.”

Nestor knows a soft command when he hears it. He nods. “Yes, Sir.” Digging into his pocket, he retrieves the comlink. “Mom? Mom, can I call you back? Yes, it will be soon. Aw, don’t cry, Mom. I’m working on a lawyer. We’ll get a lawyer, I promise. Now hang up and I’ll call you back.” Cringing Nestor deactivates the comlink and stows it back in his pocket. Trying to appear unrattled and to declare the matter resolved, he announces, “Thank you, Sir. My apologies for the interruption.”

But the leader of the First Order is interested now. “That was your mother?”

“Yes.”

“She is in distress?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“A family matter.”

“What family matter?”

“My father has been arrested.”

“On what grounds?”

Nestor sticks to the facts. “Some guy jumped my father trying to steal his wallet. He defended himself. It was self-defense—even the cops agree. But he killed the other guy. Dad’s a good shot. He was a stormtrooper.”

“He is charged with manslaughter then?”

“No. Killing that guy is fine. It’s the weapon Dad used that is the problem. It’s illegal. The cops confiscated it and raided his home. That’s when the New Republic got involved. My father has more illegal weapons. Many of his assault blasters violate the New Republic’s laws. He’s now charged with lots of counts of illegal possession of firearms.”

“Is he now?” Snoke purrs. “How unfortunate.”

“One of them is his service rifle, Sir. Dad was trooper in the 501st and he still has his weapon. But it was outlawed with all the rest of the leftover Imperial army equipment. Just owning that rifle gets him ten years.”

Nestor shuts up now, feeling embarrassed for having gone on at length. Snoke doesn’t care about the arrest of Jules Flick, ex-Imperial stormtrooper. Looking down, he grumbles, “My apologies for the interruption, Sir. It won’t happen again.”

Snoke leans forward on his throne. “What are you going to do about it?”

What? “Sir?”

“What are you going to do about your father’s arrest?”

“I’m trying to get him a lawyer.”

“We can do better than that,” Snoke decides. He turns to address Kylo. “Apprentice, this is your new assignment.”

“The mission is to get Flick’s dad a lawyer?” Kylo puzzles.

Snoke makes a face of annoyance at this literalness. “No, Apprentice. Your mission is to solve the problem. Find a solution to the arrest of your Knight’s father, a veteran of Darth Vader’s legion.”

It has nothing to do with finding Luke Skywalker. How this is possibly First Order business is beyond Nestor. But he’ll take all the help he can get. For his part, Kylo looks pleased not to be sent on yet another scavenger hunt for old relics. They’ve done a lot of raids on museums, universities, and rich guys’ villas. This, at least, has the promise of variety. 

When the Knights retire from the throne room, Nestor tells the guys more facts about what happened with Dad. Then, he speaks to the context of Dad’s predicament, which is the crux of the problem.

He starts by reminding them of what they already know: that the New Republic was founded by an armed revolt, so naturally their leaders want to keep weapons out of the hands of citizens. They know how effective armed citizens can be when organized for a common cause. Hence the New Republic’s lengthy list of prohibitions for former Imperial officers and enlisted personnel alike. But Dad wasn’t organizing a revolt, he was protecting himself. Doing the basic police function that the state is supposed to do on behalf of all citizens. Except that in these post-Empire days, law enforcement is social work. Thanks to the New Republic’s local mandates to defund the police, the cops are praised for arresting fewer criminals, not more. Their job is to solve society’s ills—from mental health issues, to addiction, to poverty, to discrimination—through talking to people. That some of those people might be unreasonable, drunk, high, or just plain stupid is beside the point.

The approach has a tendency to leave law abiding citizens vulnerable since the perpetrators are emboldened. And that’s why Dad has long carried a small snub blaster on his person. Without that blaster, he might be dead. But the blaster has landed him in a heap of trouble. Dad is facing a minimum of thirty years of prison time. He’s being charged like he’s an arms dealer, not a citizen with a blaster collection.

Nestor has a very bad feeling about where all this is headed. What’s worse, Dad’s case has begun to garner attention. The local media has barely covered the story, but the big newsfeeds out of the Core are all over it. Dad’s being portrayed as an extremist. As some dangerous dissident who wants to fight the war all over again. And, yeah, Jules Flick has some politically incorrect views, but he’s far from the terrorist they portray him to be. Nestor watched a holonet video Mom sent this morning that made his heart sink. There’s going to be a lot of pressure on the judge to go for the maximum sentence, he fears.

Nestor plays the holovid for the other Knights.

Static reacts first. “Hey, I saw that story last night on the newsfeed. Dude, your dad is famous!”

“Not in a good way,” Nestor grumbles.

“That wasn’t on the newsfeed last night,” Carlos counters. “I watched it.”

“Which one?” Static asks.

That starts an argument. “What do you mean, which one? I watched our newsfeed. What did you watch?”

“The Coruscant newsfeed.”

“You mean the enemy newsfeed?” Carlos challenges.

“Yep.”

“I only watch First Order news,” Carlos sniffs. His sidekick Omar nods his concurrence.

“Well, I watch’em both,” Static confesses. “The truth is somewhere in between.”

Listening Kylo snorts. “Journalism isn’t a search for truth, it’s a search for clicks and viewers.”

“Preach it, Kylo. Static, you know better than to watch that crap. Fuck the mainstream media. And fuck their fake news and liberal bias.”

“This isn’t fake news. It’s true and it’s his family,” Static points out.

“Yeah,” Kylo nods slowly. He meets his eyes to commiserate. “Family matters,” he says without a trace of irony. Kylo sighs and runs a gloved hand through his perpetually messy hair. “This is mostly about politics. I hate politics, but I know politics.” 

“Yeah, I guess you do,” Nestor realizes suddenly. His mother is a Senator, after all. 

“I know how these people think,” Kylo continues. “They’ve overreached with your father. They always overreach.”

Omar agrees. “They could have just confiscated his weapon and left it at that. Gave him a lecture on gun laws and let him go.”

Kylo scowls. “They could have done any number of things short of throwing the book your dad. Bet they couldn’t pass up the temptation to make an example out of him.”

“Yeah . . . “ Nestor agrees. That sounds about right. Dad pretty much fits the profile of everything the New Republic gun regulators hate.

“They talk about freedom, but they don’t really want you to think for yourself. That might lead you to question their authority. These people thrive off authority. Government is their answer to every problem. And since they are the government, they are the answer,” Kylo continues bitterly. All the Knights are listening closely. It’s the longest speech their young leader has ever given on politics. Mostly, Kylo’s enthusiasm is reserved for his personal vendetta against Skywalker. This is a new side to the Apprentice.

Actually, Kylo is an odd champion for the First Order. He’s got an impeccable New Republic pedigree, a privileged Core background, and the elitist attitudes to match. But Kylo’s also got a Rimmer’s bitterness and rebelliousness. He speaks in the flat, drawling Basic of the common man, despite his Prince of Alderaan heritage. Plus, he’s blunt, socially awkward, painfully insecure, and quick to violence. The guy sort of embodies the anxious masculinity of these unsettled times. By now, Nestor knows Kylo to be a guy who is far more vulnerable than he projects, but you’re only likely to see that vulnerability right before he lights his sword. All in all, it’s an incongruous mix of opinions and traits that somehow simultaneously reflect—and defy—his background. It will either make him a great leader some day or a flame out failure. Right now, Nestor’s not sure which. 

But he listens as Kylo grouses, “These New Republic types talk a good game about freedom and democracy, but they’re scared to lose control. They know that given the choice, lots of systems would prefer to go back to the days of the Empire. Not everyone wanted a revolution to turn back the clock. A lot of people just wanted to reform the Empire some.” 

Carlos doubles down on his earlier sentiments. “Well, I say fuck the Core media. They’re New Republic apologists.”

As a general matter, Nestor agrees with that viewpoint. Maybe long-ago reporters believed that their mission was to inform the public. But these days, most Core media outlets seem to embrace progressive groupthink, openly advancing an agenda in which journalists are advocates. Of course, the First Order and the more conservative political elements in the galaxy responded by creating their own version of the news. The complete disconnect between the two presentations of current events makes it increasingly hard to discern the truth. More and more, the galaxy seems to be drifting into two camps that openly mistrust one another. 

Snoke didn’t create the situation, but he does exploit it. The First Order movement has become very politically savvy. Its openly nostalgic, Imperialist themes appeal to people who live in forgotten corners of the galaxy. To people who feel their best days are behind them. It’s a mix of straight talk, bluster, and grievance finely attuned to its audience. For the rhetoric of the First Order taps into a wellspring of social anxieties, economic frustrations, and legitimate policy grievances. People in Mid Rim and Outer Rim systems listen and nod along with it.

Amazingly, despite all the hyper-credentialed intellectuals who advise the New Republic, their Senate leaders collectively have a huge blind spot for the priorities of non-Core, non-elite citizens. If the Senate paid more attention to those constituencies, they would recognize what is coming. But they don’t. Their arrogance blinds them. And so, the First Order fills the power vacuum, harping on the problems for which the New Republic has no compelling answers. Snoke offers up solutions that are simple and pragmatic, if not always democratic. Predictably, they fall on deaf ears. The New Republic types tend to have contempt for viewpoints contrary to their own. For all their talk of empathy, the Senate leaders have a firm ideological orthodoxy. Basically, they want to solve problems with the same solutions that failed in the past. 

That’s due to their slavish devotion to the halcyon days of the Old Republic. Conveniently, that mindset permits them to overlook the corruption, inefficiency, and other shortcomings of the failed galactic government. Clone Wars? What Clone Wars? That was merely an orchestrated conflict. There was no real disagreement amid the Republic systems, they now argue with a straight face. Any and all legitimate criticism is swept aside under the prevailing narrative that Darth Sidious and Darth Vader singlehandedly took down the Old Republic. It goes something like this: the evil Sith killed the good Republic, but now the good Republic is back. So, if you’re unhappy with the new good Republic, you’re either (1) an apologist for evil or (2) a loser who can’t make it in a free and fair society. 

That last sentiment might just be the most insidious part. For the meritocracy that the New Republic promises has appeal on its face. It’s the bargain that it you work hard, get an education or a skill, and make good decisions, you will rise. But this sends a separate message as well: that if you can’t get ahead, it’s your problem, not the government’s failure. Never mind that the deck is stacked against you and the wealth of the Core depends on the exploitation of the Rim. Basically, the Core worlds want the rest of the galaxy to emulate their values and success, whether it’s achievable or not. This congratulates the winners and boos the losers. It tells struggling people that it’s their fault. It feeds the sentiment that the New Republic Core elites look down on everyone else . . . because they do. 

It’s infuriating, to be honest. But more importantly, it’s anti-democratic. Because in a Republic built around compromise and consensus, you need to have a public dialogue about issues. There needs to be a free exchange of ideas and viewpoints. But none of that is happening, Nestor knows. And that’s a shame. Because if you show people who you disagree with respect and allow them to speak, it is amazing what they will let you them say to them or ask of them. But that takes listening—not just waiting for them to stop talking. 

The New Republic just can’t seem to learn the lesson that if you make people feel disrespected or humiliated, they will resent you. Over time, they will come to reject your authority altogether. Doesn’t anyone remember the Separatist Crisis? This has happened before in many peoples’ lifetimes. Half the galaxy got so fed up with Coruscant that they seceded and formed their own government. Plus, over twenty years in, what exactly has the New Republic accomplished? Not much. Snoke, with his in-progress superweapon, his lightsaber wielding Apprentice, and his burgeoning war machine, is waiting to pounce. His First Order will soon be the fist in the face that the galaxy’s Rim citizens throw back at the Core. Snoke’s planning a galaxy-wide peasant revolt that will change the course of history.

But unfortunately, in the meantime, his father is caught up in the prevailing conflicts of the times. Nestor has no idea how to help him avoid prison. His comlink rings again now. Yep, it’s Mom. “Mom?”

“Put her on speaker,” Kylo instructs.

“Mom, I’m here. With my guys. You’re on speaker.”

“Nes? Nes, are you there? Can you talk now?”

“Yeah, I’m here. It’s okay, Mom. Don’t cry. I’m coming to help.”

“No—don’t! Nes, don’t! The moment they know you’re First Order, this will only get worse.”

Maybe so. But he’s not abandoning his parents to deal with this problem themselves. “I’m coming to help.”

“I don’t want you dragged into this. Nes, you have too much to lose—“

“So does Dad. I’m coming.”

“We’re coming,” Kylo corrects him. “Right, guys?” He looks around at the listening Knights, who all nod. “It’s our mission. And besides, I like your dad,” he adds a bit sheepishly.

Mom pipes up. “Is that your nice friend from work? The one who came to dinner?”

“Yeah, that’s him.”

“Oh, Nes, don’t drag him into this too.”

“It’s fine, Mom. We can handle ourselves---”

“I know you can,” she sighs. “Look Nes, I hate to ask this, but I talked to the first lawyer on that list you sent me. He wants a retainer . . . ”

“How much?”

She names a sum. It’s a third of his annual salary. 

“I know it’s a lot . . . he says that this is a high-profile case so it will cost more than usual . . .”

Nestor gulps and tries to sound cool about it. “I can cover that. Mom, I’m sending you the funds. You get that lawyer working and I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon.”

“But—"

“I’m coming.”

Jonar speaks up. “Ask her when the hearing is.”

“Hearing?” he repeats blankly.

“There’s always a hearing after the arraignment. Haven’t you ever been arrested before?”

“Uh, no.” He turns back to the comlink. “Mom, is there a hearing?”

“Yes. It’s next week.” She names a date five days away.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll be there. Tell Dad not to worry.”

“Mrs. Flick, we got this,” Kylo announces firmly. 

But Nestor is dubious. “Mom, I’m gonna jump in a ship now. You hold tight. I love you, Mom. Tell

Dad I love him.”

While he heads home to his parents and Kylo works on a mission plan, things go downhill fast. Dad’s story blows up in the media. Every few years, there is a court case that captures the public’s attention. This time, Jules Flick, the buzzcut ex-stormtrooper-turned-factory-worker, is that case. His arrest quickly becomes a cultural flashpoint. How you view his predicament depends largely on who you are. 

The Core commentators firmly agree that Dad’s a nut into guns and retro politics. He’s probably religious too, they speculate. For sure, he hates aliens. When the prosecutors release the details of Dad’s hoarding, he becomes a cliché. Some paranoid fool who spent half his retirement savings on survivalist gear because he thinks the Republic will fall again. The elites shake their heads and roll their eyes as they snicker, ‘Like that will ever happen . . .’

But the Mid Rim recognizes an everyday working man who lives on a small world in economic malaise. A world where crime is increasing and formerly nice areas have become unsafe. So a sixty year old guy walking home at night gets jumped for his wallet that holds exactly ten credits. They can self-identify with that situation. And so what if Dad’s an ex-trooper? It’s not like he is Darth Vader. He was back then what he is now: a regular guy.

Out in the farthest reaches of the Rim on the frontier systems, Dad becomes something of a folk hero. Here’s a guy prepared to take care of himself. These people are not threatened by Dad’s collection of illegal blasters, they’re jealous of his firepower. Because on worlds where Tusken Raiders, slave traders, and rancors roam free, a blaster—legal or not—is a necessity. People understand a gun to be a tool, not an indicator of an evil intent. And so what if Dad’s an ex-trooper? Plenty of folks in the Rim have pasts they’d rather forget.

But back home, things are grim. Dad is alternately defiant and discouraged, but mostly he’s worried about Mom. She’ll be on her own for the first time ever, Dad worries. You need to check on her every day. And can you make sure she doesn’t run short of credits? She won’t tell you. You’re gonna have to figure it out. I’ll take care of her, Nestor promises. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything. Dad sighs and looks down at his handcuffs. I know you will, son. 

Fuck, he hates seeing Dad like this. And Mom looks like she’s aged ten years. Nestor doesn’t know what Kylo is planning—it’s too risky to ask for details that might get intercepted—but it had better be good. Because seeing Dad in custody just kills him.

The upcoming hearing is only about evidence, but Dad’s lawyer tells them that the ruling will de facto decide the case. Because the only way Dad is getting acquitted is if the judge rules that the search of his home was illegal. If the judge tosses out that evidence, Dad will only be charged for the blaster he used in self-defense. That’s a charge he might beat. But if the judge allows the evidence, then the next step will be a decision about whether to seek a plea bargain or a lengthy wait in jail for an actual trial. 

Finally, the morning of the hearing rolls around. Mom’s inside in her best dress looking exhausted as she waits for Dad to arrive in his handcuffs and orange jumpsuit. Nervous Nestor waits on the courthouse steps, surveying the raucous crowd of chanting protesters. He knew some people would show up for the cameras, but he didn’t expect this many. 

Through the sea of people walk Kylo, Omar, Carlos, and some guy he doesn’t recognize. Like Nestor, the Knights are all in dress uniforms. They garner quite a few looks for their distinctive matching robes that look more ecclesiastical than military.

“Where did all these crazies come from?” Nestor complains under his breath. The last thing this hearing needs is more media scrutiny.

“Hey! They’re not crazies. They’re peaceful protesters,” Omar answers with a wink. 

Suddenly suspicious, Nestor whirls on Kylo. “What’s going on?”

“They’re our people,” Kylo confirms.

Nestor takes a second look. “They’re mostly women.” Some of them look familiar. And they’re all young.

“It’s the _Finalizer_ lady swim team,” Carlos beams.

“Wait—these are the girls from the pool?”

“Yep. Jonar told them that your Dad was the guy on the holonet and asked for volunteers. They all volunteered.”

“Who are the guys?” There are men present too.

“Friends of the girls. Jonar promised everyone a blowout party back at the ship. Well,” Carlos squints at the crowd, “there are some locals too, I guess. Think we can invite them?”

“Hux won’t like it,” Omar points out.

“Who the fuck cares?”

“Alright, whatever.” He’s not planning the victory celebration just yet. Uncharacteristically testy and nervous, Nestor snarls impatiently at Kylo. “What’s the plan?”

“There’s a Plan A and a Plan B. This is Plan A: meet Rafe Ono, attorney for the accused and for the First Order.” Kylo gestures to the guy at his side.

Nestor doesn’t spare him a glance. “We have a lawyer.”

“Not like this lawyer, you don’t.”

“What’s Plan B?”

“My lightsaber.”

“We’re not killing everyone.” The Apprentice smirks at his words, so Nestor hisses back, “Kylo, I’m serious. We are NOT killing everyone.”

“Just a few.”

“And then what? Dad’s a fugitive from justice?”

“Nah. He’s a hero of the First Order,” Carlos beams.

“We’re not killing everyone,” he says emphatically. His stress level was already through the roof. This just made it worse.

Kylo shrugs. “I told you—Plan A is the lawyer. We’re going to try it their way first. And if we don’t get what we want, then we’re going to kill everyone.”

“Kylo—" he warns.

The secret Skywalker cuts him off. “This isn’t just a mission to help your dad. This is a mission from Snoke to help your dad. So, we’ll do what it takes. Starkiller Snoke understands a show of force.”

“Got a Plan C?” Nestor grouses.

“Nope.”

“Oh, alright . . . “ he goes along, even if he’s not happy about it. It’s not like he has any better options for Dad. And Kylo is his commanding officer. “If we’re going to fight, why are we in dress uniforms?”

“Because this will end up on camera and we need to make a good impression,” Carlos volunteers.

“While we’re killing people??” He shoots Carlos a look.

“Someone give Nestor his helmet,” Kylo orders. “He needs to be anonymously dashing and impressive like the rest of us when we run out with the fugitive.”

“I can’t believe this is the plan . . . “ Nestor mutters. “We’re better than this . . . “

“Maybe you are,” Kylo snorts, “but I’m not.”

“How are you getting inside with that sword?” Nestor huffs.

“The same way I’m getting inside without my identification,” Kylo answers blithely.

Carlos grins, waves his hand, and speaks in a spooky voice. “You don’t need to see his identification.”

Omar responds back on cue, “We don’t need to see his identification.” 

The guys chuckle at the inside joke, but it gives Nestor an idea. “Hey, will that mind trick thing work on the judge?”

“Negative,” Kylo answers. “It only works on the weak minded.”

“And club bouncers and bartenders,” Omar adds.

All the levity about the situation has Nestor irked. He shows a rare display of temper. “Shut up!” Normally, he’s a pretty chill guy. Except this situation involves people he loves and he can’t maintain emotional distance from the problem.

Kylo sees he’s upset. “Easy there, Nestor. This is going to go just fine. Follow my lead,” Kylo says under his breath. “Now where’s the local lawyer? Your guy and my guy ought to compare notes.”

“He’s inside,” Nestor sighs. “Let’s go in.”

It’s almost irritating how easily Kylo Force-talks his way past the security. Kylo, his lawyer, and himself will be in the courtroom with Mom and Dad. Carlos and Omar are backup inside the building hiding in the hallway. Jonar and Static will be stationed outside. Pedro is flying the getaway transport. All the other Knights came armed for the fight. But Nestor wasn’t fool enough to attempt to smuggle in a gun for a hearing on his father’s illegal weapons charge. 

Dad is stalwart, if a little pale, when he is escorted in chains into the courtroom. “Nes,” he nods hello. “Kylo, right?” Dad recognizes his long-ago dinner guest who currently has his helmet stashed under his seat.

“Mr. Flick,” Kylo is surprisingly respectful. He reaches to shake Dad’s cuffed hand, which is a surprise deviation from his usual aloof asshole snark. 

“You boys shouldn’t be here,” Dad says under his breath. “You need to stay far away from a guy like me.”

“We’re here to rescue you,” Kylo informs him sotto voce.

Dad raises an eyebrow. “In that dress?”

“Snoke chose the uniform,” Kylo grumbles.

“Does he wear a dress as well?”

“Yep.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Dad blinks. Then he cracks a smile. For a second, he resembles his usual affable self.

The judge now calls the hearing to order. Kylo’s lawyer begins by asking to clear the courtroom. He wants the hearing to be closed to the public.

The judge disagrees. “This case has a lot of media interest. Given that context, the public especially has a right to know of our proceedings.”

“The camera bots can stay,” Kylo’s lawyer allows. “But there is no need for a crowd of journalists and New Republic observers.” He gestures to the packed courtroom behind them. “Just the prosecution, the defense, and family members need to be present in person.”

Nestor knows what he’s doing. The lawyer’s trying to save lives. Because everyone in this room is going to die unless Dad gets set free. But the judge, who has no reason to suspect violence, turns down the request. The hearing continues as is. 

“I tried,” Kylo’s guy mutters under his breath as he takes his seat.

Kylo could care less. “Tell Flick that. He’s the one with the scruples.”

The new lawyer meets his gaze now. To his credit, the guy looks as genuinely disturbed as Nestor feels about what’s about the happen. But he simply offers, “Let’s hope we win on the merits.” It’s said with a forced optimism no one on the defense team shares. Because Team Flick does not have any illusions about how the actual legal argument is going to proceed. 

There is some preliminary scheduling talk between the lawyers and the judge and then they get down to business. Kylo’s lawyer launches into a speech about how Dad ought to get the key to the city, not an indictment. He argues that the cops had no business arresting Dad on an illegal weapons charge. A citizen has the right to defend themselves from deadly violence by any means necessary. It shouldn’t matter whether the blaster Dad used was legal or not. 

Naturally, the prosecutor sees it differently. She argues that the possession of the illegal blaster is a separate issue from whether killing the attacker with the illegal blaster is permissible self-defense. The prosecution will concede that Dad did nothing wrong using the blaster to protect himself. But that doesn’t change the fact that owning the blaster—and all the other blasters back home—violates the law.

There is a lot of back and forth between the opposing lawyers and the judge. Kylo’s lawyer contends that the search of the house was illegal because there was no probable cause. He calls the evidence seized during that search—basically, Dad’s entire gun collection—to be ‘fruits of a poisonous tree’ in some legal reference Nestor can’t follow. Ultimately, the judge overrules him and admits the evidence. It’s the outcome everyone knew was most likely. But unfortunately, it’s bad news for Dad.

The local lawyer stands up now to ask that the prosecutor drop some of the charges. Basically, he wants a compromise. Admit all the evidence, but only charge Dad for some of the evidence. The local guy argues that Dad may have owned illegal weapons, but he never used them until now. There is no need for prosecutorial overkill. Dad is an otherwise exemplary citizen and a war veteran. 

“Imperial veteran,” the prosecutor pipes up sourly. She says it like the slur it is meant to be.

Dad visibly bristles and the judge snaps at his lawyers to ‘control their client.’

Aggrieved Dad seethes and says nothing.

It’s just the opening Kylo’s lawyer is waiting for. He shoots to his feet. He starts arguing that this is a politically motivated prosecution, that this is a local crime which has been elevated to a New Republic political stunt, that Dad is being made an example because he has an Imperial past and a dissenter’s politics. It’s not a crime to be an ex-stormtrooper, he maintains. It’s not a crime to own a few blasters. And it’s definitely not a crime to defend yourself when some repeat offender with a lengthy rap sheet twenty years your junior jumps you in a back alley at night. 

“Duly noted.” The judge sounds bored. He turns to the prosecutor for a rebuttal. She’s from the local district attorney’s office, but she has a table full of New Republic lawyers behind her as ‘consultants.’ The local prosecutor yields to one them and the rhetoric kicks into high gear. 

Dad is denounced as a dangerous extremist. He’s a neo-Imperialist who wants to return the galaxy to the days when fascism reigned and aliens were openly discriminated against. To the days of Death Stars and magical wizards in black. That guy in the back alley was wrong, but Dad, his disproven ideas, and his illegal blasters are wrong as well. You’d think Darth Sidious himself was on trial instead of a platoon leader for the 501st. Because according to the prosecution, letting Dad walk the streets is the equivalent of putting the whole system under martial law.

As the lawyers bicker further, Nestor leans in to tell Kylo, “This plan is a terrible idea.”

Kylo is unconcerned. “Death Star 2 was a terrible idea. This is a good idea.”

“This is a terrible idea,” Nestor hisses back. “When we start shooting, we’re going to prove all their grandstanding right. We are exactly what they’re afraid of.”

“Yes, we are,” Kylo replies with the hint of a smile.

As the lawyers keep arguing, the discussion is less about Dad and more about abstract ideology. Listening Nestor isn’t sure if that’s helpful or not. It certainly isn’t swaying the judge. But maybe that’s not the point. Because when things are done here today, the verdict likely will be delivered by public opinion. And by Snoke, of course. Wary Nestor keeps his poker face as the buzzing camera bots record all of it. 

Finally, the judge puts an end to the discussion. His decision has been made on the evidentiary question at hand. The rest of the rhetoric is superfluous. The judge bangs his gavel and dismisses them to move on to the next case.

“Guess that’s my cue.” Kylo fishes his sword out of his pocket.

“This isn’t gonna work,” Nestor grumbles back.

The Appentice shoots him an irked look. “Then why didn’t you say so?”

“I did say so.”

“Too late now.” Kylo stands to his feet. He steps forward and lights his sword. Nestor has heard the distinctive snap-hiss many times, but the sound never fails to impress. Nothing sounds like a lightsaber igniting. Everyone in the room reacts with a sharp intake of breath. They are so surprised that probably no one notices that both camera bots malfunction simultaneously and fall to the ground.

Kylo’s new blade is a crimson red. He swapped out the blue crystal from Vader’s Jedi sword with the cracked red crystal he scavenged from one of the relics they stole. This new red blade is not the strong, opaque color that the blue one was. It pulses and sparks dangerously, echoing the menacing demeanor of the young man who wields it. 

Kylo stands tall in his black vicar’s robes with an ancient weapon lit in one hand. He’s in the middle of the courtroom posed before a grim looking judge with a shocked crowd of onlookers behind. The moment has all the melodrama of the ultimatum to come. The air is heavy with the dread of violence.

The bailiff and two deputies who heretofore have been lounging against the wall pull their sidearms and take aim. But Kylo ignores them. He addresses the judge. 

“Your honor, would you care to review and revise your ruling?”

The man glowers down from his dais. “Young man, are you trying to intimidate me?”

Kylo is blunt and terse. “Yes.”

“Who are you? Are you a relative?”

“No. I’m a Knight of Ren.”

The judge blinks at the unfamiliar title. He squints at Kylo. “What’s with the sword? Are you supposed to be some sort of Luke Skywalker?”

“No. I am a Knight of the First Order. My name is Kylo Ren. I’m going to kill Luke Skywalker. And if you don’t revise your ruling, I’m going to kill you.”

The judge squares his jaw and lifts his chin as he glares hard at Kylo. “Bailiff, arrest this man! This court will not be intimidated!” he announces with a loud bang of his gavel. “We are a system of laws, not of men. The defendant has been represented ably by counsel and he has received due process. Justice has been served!”

The wide-eyed bailiff stands frozen, hesitating as he stares fearfully at the gleaming red sword.

Kylo reissues his question. The words come out slower this time. “Your honor, would you care to review and revise your ruling?”

“Arrest him!” the judge orders again.

Kylo shrugs. “So be it.” He outstretches his left hand towards the judge and makes a fist. The man starts to heave and gasp as everyone stares. It’s the Vader choke. A sure sign that Kylo doesn’t just have a red laser sword, but he also has the Force to match it.

“Stop!” the anxious bailiff hollers as he keeps his aim on Kylo. “Stop or I’ll shoot!” But he doesn’t shoot and neither do the deputies. They are too uncertain. Because the guy in black with the Vader sword and the Vader choke has them thoroughly intimidated.

Seconds pass and the judge slumps to pass out. Kylo loosens his fist and opens his palm. The bailiff’s blaster is yanked from his grip to fly into Kylo’s glove. He calmly shoots three times in rapid succession. Down goes the bailiff and down go the two armed deputies who do not have time to react. 

“Get down!” Kylo orders curtly as he turns to face the stunned and murmuring crowd behind him. 

Nestor knows what’s coming next. He grabs dumbstruck Mom and shoves her under the counsel table they’re sitting at. Then, he and Dad and the two lawyers join her on the floor. 

It’s not a moment too soon. Carlos and Omar take their cue from Kylo’s blaster shots. They burst in the room to open fire. Here comes the slaughter Nestor has dreaded. 

When minutes later they crawl out to survey the aftermath, Mom looks like she might faint. 

“Lady, don’t look,” Carlos advises. He, like the rest of the Knights, is all business when it comes to killing. “Just pretend it never happened.”

Mom looks to him blankly and Nestor takes her hand. “Look at me. Don’t look at them,” he tells her. “Focus on me.” Mom’s a civilian and she has never seen combat. Well, this wasn’t combat, this was murder. Mom knows it, too. 

“Oh, Nes!” she buries her face in his chest.

He meets Dad’s eyes over her head. Dad knows it as well. 

Kylo catches that look. “Someone give the old man a gun,” he orders. “He’s good with a gun.” As Omar nabs a pistol off the dead bailiff, Kylo waves a gloved hand over Dad’s handcuffs. They open and fall away to the ground.

“Please tell me you have a getaway transport close by?” Dad asks as he rubs at his wrists.

Kylo smirks. “We brought a star destroyer.”

Dad is taken aback. “You did not!”

Kylo grins. “Yes, we did. It’s in orbit.”

“That’s illegal under the treaty,” Dad mutters as he inspects his pilfered weapon.

“Yep. Illegal like this jailbreak,” Omar declares. “Here, Nestor.” Omar grabs another gun off a fallen deputy and tosses it to him. 

They need to get to that star destroyer. “Is the speeder out back?” he worries.

“Pedro’s pulling up out front.”

“Out front??”

“So the cameras can see us and the crowd can cheer,” Kylo explains.

“They were gonna give me thirty years for my illegal blasters. What do you suppose you get for an illegal capital ship?” Dad mutters.

Again, Kylo flashes that rare lopsided grin. “They have to catch us first.”

Nestor is getting impatient with all the bravado. “They are going to catch us if we stand around here yapping. Let’s go!”

“Here’s your helmet.” Kylo hands over his Knight of Ren headgear as he pulls on his own. He turns to Dad’s local lawyer to demand, “Are you coming with us?”

“Do I have to?” the quaking man asks.

“No.”

“Then, I’ll stay,” the lawyer answers weakly. 

“Suit yourself. Nestor’s right, let’s go.”

Their group heads out of the courtroom, pushing through startled people in the hallways. Carlos is on his comlink signaling for the transport as they hustle. They encounter a few more security guards and bailiffs on the way out. It doesn’t take long for people to discover what happened back in the courtroom. But their pursuers all fall to the expert aim of the Knights with a few assists from Kylo. The guy’s ability to freeze incoming blaster bolts with the Force is amazing. 

“There’s Pedro!” Omar spots the incoming transport as they stand just inside the courthouse main entrance.

Kylo turns to Dad. “You come out behind me. You’re the star of this show.”

Dad snorts. “That sword in your hand will be the star of this show. Those things aren’t exactly common.”

Kylo grins. “I made it red just for you. Ready?”

“Nes, cover your mother,” Dad orders just before he and Kylo duck outside.

“This is crazy,” Mom mutters under her breath in the tone women always use when they completely disapprove of the choices of the men around them. She’s trembling, Nestor sees.

“It will be alright.” He squeezes her hand. 

“No, it won’t. Those people are dead, Nes.”

Yeah, he’s not thrilled about that either. The scene in the courtroom was a bloodbath. “That can’t be helped now,” he sighs. “Let’s go.” He firmly tugs her through the door. There’s no time to lose. And if they don’t get away, then all those people will have died for nothing.

Outside is pandemonium as the crowd cheers on the Knights, the fugitive, and his wife. Kylo’s fancy First Order lawyer is still here too. Their group is climbing into the hovering transport before the jubilant crowd just as the local cops show up to respond to the slaughter in the courtroom. 

The cops start shooting.

The Knights return fire.

The screaming crowd scatters in all directions. All except for the staged protesters from the _Finalizer_, who produce hidden sidearms to join the melee.

Suddenly, the local cops are facing a small army of stormtroopers disguised in civilian attire. The battle is over quickly. As their transport pulls away, a second transport arrives to collect the pretend protesters to whisk them back to the ship. Everyone gets safely away before the local authorities can muster additional resources to pursue them.

But while the other guys are high-fiving each other in the immediate aftermath of the adrenaline rush, Dad and Mom remain conspicuously silent. If anything, Dad looks more worried than in the courtroom. Clearly, he’s not pleased with his rescue.

Kylo looks him in the eye. “Go ahead and say it.” 

Dad twists his jaw and mulls it over.

“Go ahead and say it!” Kylo goads. “Say it to my face!”

“Alright, I will. What the FUCK are you kids doing?” Dad challenges. The gruff outburst silences everyone on board. Dad’s face has a hard look at he meets the eyes of each of the Knights one by one. “You’re gonna start a war!”

Kylo has an ugly smirk. “Let’s hope. War is the goal.” But instantly, he’s defensive. “Don’t forget they picked this fight! They chose you to make an example. Remember that.”

Dad now fixes him with a glare that makes Nestor want to squirm. “You didn’t need to do this! I told you to stay away! Your Mother told you to stay away--”

“He was never going to stay away and you know it,” Kylo interrupts. “Besides, he didn’t have a choice. I’m in charge and you were my mission.”

“Your mission?”

“Yes. My mission from Snoke.”

“From Snoke?” Mom echoes weakly. 

“Yes, Snoke. The Supreme Leader himself sent us to rescue you, Flick. So, stop blaming your son. Nestor didn’t know what we had planned. I’m the bad guy here.” Kylo brags that last bit, like he’s proud. He shoots Dad a frustrated look and mutters, “You’re welcome.” Then he turns away and stalks off a bit.

They are coming up on the _Finalizer_ now. The majestic capital ship is the latest in several generations of star destroyers dating back to the Clone Wars era. Dad’s eyes widen as he catches the sight out the window. He’s impressed.

Static sees the reaction. “Welcome to the First Order,” he quips. “Home, sweet home.”

Miffed Kylo catches the exchange. He whirls to respond, “Right—exactly! I just saved you from thirty years in a New Republic jail! But more importantly, I just kept you on our side. Your whole family is on the same side. That matters! That’s worth a few lives.”

Dad knows who Kylo really is. He nods slowly. “Yeah, I think I understand . . .”

“You may not like our means, but you will like the end result,” Kylo promises. It’s the bargain with the devil he and Snoke plan to offer the entire galaxy in a few years’ time. But judging by Dad’s tepid reaction, the pitch might need some work.

Dad just looks at Kylo. He says nothing, but his expression speaks volumes. 

Kylo crosses his arms. He works his jaw over like he always does when he’s uncomfortable. “You got something else to say, Flick?”

“I don’t know. Are you ready to listen?”

“Spit it out, old man!”

“Alright,” Dad tells the young Skywalker who towers over him, “Son, I served with your grandfather. We didn’t always take the high ground. We did what needed to be done. It wasn’t always pretty. But when it came to civilians during peacetime, we showed restraint.”

“What’s your point?”

“You didn’t need to kill everyone back there. You only needed to kill a few.”

“I can do what I want.”

“Not if you want people to follow you,” Dad answers flatly. “You want to be a hero for the cameras? The daring revolutionary who does what others just talk about? The space cowboy with the Force? Fine. But remember one basic point of being a hero: people have to admire you.” 

“Those people are the enemy. They’re New Republic.”

“We’re not at war yet.”

“We will be.” Kylo postures hard now in his proto-Darth Vader guise. “I’m fine to be admired, but I prefer to be feared.”

“That’s definitely an effective short-term approach,” Dad concedes. “But just remember—villains are feared. Heroes are admired, but villains are feared.”

“So the New Republic thinks I’m a villain. Who the fuck cares?”

“Don’t make the same mistake they did, kid. If all goes well, someday you will have to govern people who were loyal to the New Republic.” 

“Payback’s a bitch,” Kylo boasts. 

Dad sighs. “Tell me you don’t you can solve every problem the way you solved things at Luke Skywalker’s Jedi academy.” Kylo glares a stern warning but Dad goes there anyway. “Yeah, I read up on that—”

“That’s fucking fake news!”

“Look, I get it--”

“The FUCK you do!” Kylo explodes. “None of what people say about that is true!”

Dad nods slowly. “I believe you. Look, you’re an angry kid with a past to hide, an axe to grind, and big shoes to fill. That ain’t easy. But maybe you want to think a little harder about this Kylo Ren persona you’ve taken on. Stop trying so hard to be the bad guy.”

“I’m not the bad guy,” Kylo grumbles. 

Listening in silence, Nestor can tell that’s exactly how his friend truly feels. Insecure and inexperienced, an outcast from his family and the beleaguered Apprentice to Snoke, Kylo doesn’t really know who he is or what he wants. And hey, that’s not altogether unusual at twenty-four years old. But to hide all that uncertainty, Kylo likes to throw his weight around. He does it on the _Finalizer_ with Hux and he did it today in the courtroom. He’s been forced into the role of the bad guy and it doesn’t quite fit. But he’s trying hard to make it fit. Days like today, Kylo succeeds. But other days, Nestor’s not so sure. 


End file.
